diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:45:58 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:45:58 -0700 |
| commit | 8410af3a901b0b1fd56bc6ad21f4dc0a9b4faec5 (patch) | |
| tree | bc85051dc3ea3ecc5b8e34321908ec9ae81ab595 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 15073-8.txt | 8896 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 15073-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 145304 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 15073-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 223289 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 15073-h/15073-h.htm | 8992 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 15073-h/images/frontis.jpg | bin | 0 -> 72096 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 15073.txt | 8896 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 15073.zip | bin | 0 -> 145286 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
10 files changed, 26800 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15073-8.txt b/15073-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..48e3e0a --- /dev/null +++ b/15073-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8896 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Colossus, by Opie Read + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Colossus + A Novel + +Author: Opie Read + +Release Date: February 15, 2005 [EBook #15073] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COLOSSUS *** + + + + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +THE COLOSSUS + + +A NOVEL +BY +OPIE READ + + +Author of "The Carpetbagger," "Old Ebenezer," "The Jucklins," "My +Young Master," "On The Suwanee River," "A Kentucky Colonel," "Emmett +Bonlore," "A Tennessee Judge," "The Wives of the Prophet," "Len +Gansett," "The Tear in the Cup and Other Stories". + + +CHICAGO +LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS +1893. + + +[Illustration] + + +CONTENTS. + + +Chapter. + + I. LOOKING BACK AT EARLY LIFE + II. A SLEEPY VILLAGE AND A FUSSY OLD MAN + III. ALL WAS DARKNESS + IV. A STRANGE REQUEST + V. DISSECTING A MOTIVE + VI. WAITING AT THE STATION + VII. A MOTHER'S AFFECTION + VIII. THE DOMAIN OF A GREAT MERCHANT + IX. THE INTERVIEWERS + X. ROMPED WITH THE GIRL + XI. ACKNOWLEDGED BY SOCIETY + XII. A DEMOCRACY + XIII. BUTTING AGAINST A WALL + XIV. A DIFFERENT HANDWRITING + XV. TOLD HIM HER STORY + XVI. AN AROUSER OF THE SLEEPY + XVII. AN OLD MAN WOULD INVEST + XVIII. THE INVESTMENT + XIX. ARRESTED EVERYWHERE + XX. CRIED A SENSATION + XXI. A HELPLESS OLD WOMAN + XXII. TO GO ON A VISIT + XXIII. HENRY'S INCONSISTENCY + XXIV. WORE A ROSE ON HIS COAT + XXV. IMPATIENTLY WAITING + XXVI. TOLD IT ALL + XXVII. POINTS OUT HER BROTHER'S DUTY +XXVIII. THE VERDICT + XXIX. A DAY OF REST + XXX. A MOTHER'S REQUEST + XXXI. A MOMENT OF ARROGANCE + XXXII. A MOST PECULIAR FELLOW +XXXIII. THE TIME WAS DRAWING NEAR + XXXIV. TOLD HIM A STORY + XXXV. CONCLUSION + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +LOOKING BACK AT EARLY LIFE. + + +When the slow years of youth were gone and the hastening time of +manhood had come, the first thing that Henry DeGolyer, looking back, +could call from a mysterious darkness into the dawn of memory was that +he awoke one night in the cold arms of his dead mother. That was in +New Orleans. The boy's father had aspired to put the face of man upon +lasting canvas, but appetite invited whisky to mix with his art, and +so upon dead walls he painted the trade-mark bull, and in front of +museums he exaggerated the distortion of the human freak. + +After the death of his mother, the boy was taken to the Foundlings' +Home, where he was scolded by women and occasionally knocked down by a +vagabond older than himself. Here he remembered to have seen his +father but once. It was a Sunday when he came, years after the gentle +creature, holding her child in her arms, had died at midnight. The +painter laughed and cried and begged an old woman for a drink of +brandy. He went away, and after an age had seemed to pass the matron +of the place took the boy on her lap and told him that his father was +dead, and then, putting him down, she added: "Run along, now, and be +good." + +The boy was taken by an old Italian woman. In after years he could not +determine the length of time that he had lived in her wretched home, +but with vivid brightness dwelled in his memory the morning when he +ran away and found a free if not an easy life in the newsboys' +lodging-house. He sold newspapers, he went to a night school, and as +he grew older he picked up "river items" for an afternoon newspaper. +His hope was that he might become a "professional journalist," as +certain young men termed themselves; and study, which in an +ill-lighted room, tuned to drowsiness by the buzzing of youthful +mumblers, might have been a chafing task to one who felt not the rowel +of a spurring ambition, was to him a pleasure full of thrilling +promises. To him the reporter stood at the high-water mark of +ambition's "freshet." But when years had passed and he had scrambled +to that place he looked down and saw that his height was not a dizzy +one. And instead of viewing a conquered province, he saw, falling from +above, the shadows of trials yet to be endured. He worked faithfully, +and at one time held the place of city editor, but a change in the +management of the paper not only reduced him to the ranks, but, as the +saying went, set him on the sidewalk. Then he wrote "specials." His +work was bright, original and strong, and was reproduced throughout +the country, but as it was not signed, the paper alone received the +credit. Year after year he lived in this unsettled way--reading in the +public library, musing at his own fireside, catching glimpses of an +important work which the future seemed to hold, and waiting for the +outlines of that work to become more distinct; but the months went by +and the plan of the work remained in the shadow of the coming years. + +DeGolyer had now reached that time of life when a wise man begins +strongly to suspect that the past is but a future stripped of its +delusions. He was a man of more than ordinary appearance; indeed, +people who knew him, and who believed that size grants the same +advantages to all vocations, wondered why he was not more successful. +He was tall and strong, and in his bearing there was an ease which, to +one who recognizes not a sleeping nerve force, would have suggested +the idea of laziness. His complexion was rather dark, his eyes were +black, and his hair was a dark brown. He was not handsome, but his sad +face was impressive, and his smile, a mere melancholy recognition that +something had been said, did not soon fade from memory. + +One afternoon DeGolyer called at the office of a morning newspaper, +and was told that the managing editor wanted to see him. When he was +shown in he found an aspiring politician laughing with forced +heartiness at something which the editor had said. To the Southern +politician the humor of an influential editor is full of a delirious +mellowness. + +When the politician went out the editor invited DeGolyer to take a +seat. "Mr. DeGolyer, a number of your sketches have been well +received." + +"Yes, sir; they have made me a few encouraging enemies." + +The editor smiled. "And you regard enemies as an encouragement, eh?" + +"Yes, as a proof of success. Our friends mark out a course for us, and +if we depart from it and do something better than their +specifications call for, they become our enemies." + +"I don't know but you are right." After a short silence the editor +continued: "Mr. DeGolyer, we have been thinking of sending a man down +into Costa Rica. Our merchants believe that if we were to pay more +attention to that country we might thereby improve our trade. What we +want is a number of letters intended to familiarize us with those +people--want to show, you understand, that we are interested in them." + +They talked during an hour. The nest day DeGolyer was on board a +steamer bound for Punta Arenas. On the vessel he met a young man who +said that his name was Henry Sawyer; and this young man was so blithe +and light-hearted that DeGolyer, yielding to the persuasion of +contrast, was drawn toward him. Young Sawyer was accompanied by his +uncle, a short, fat, and at times a crusty old fellow. DeGolyer did +not think that the uncle was wholly sound of mind. One evening, just +before reaching port, and while the two young men were standing on +deck, looking landward, young Sawyer said: + +"Do you know, I think more of you than of any fellow I ever met?" + +"I don't know it," DeGolyer answered, "but I am tempted to hope so." + +"Good. I do, and that's a fact. You see, I've led a most peculiar sort +of life. I never had any home--that is, any real home. I don't +remember a thing about my father and mother. They died when I was very +young, and then my uncle took me. Uncle never married and never was +particularly attached to any one place. We have traveled a good deal; +have lived quite a while in New Orleans, but for the past two years we +have lived in a little bit of a place called Ulmata, in central Costa +Rica. Uncle's got an interest in some mines not far from there. Say, +why wouldn't it be a good idea for you to go to Ulmata and write your +letters from there? Ain't any railroad, but there's a mule line +running to the coast. How does it strike you?" + +"I'd like to, but I'm afraid that it would take my letters too long to +reach New Orleans; still, I don't know what difference that would +make, as I'm not going to write news. After all," he added, as though +he were arguing with himself, "I should think that the interior is +more interesting than the coast, for people don't hang their +characteristics over the coast line." + +"There, you've hit the nail the very first lick. You go out there with +us, and I'll bet we have a magnificent time." + +"But your uncle might object." + +"How can he? It ain't any of his business where you go." + +"Of course not." + +"Well, then, that settles it. But really, he'd like to have you. +You'll like him; little peculiar at times, but you'll find him all +right. You'll get a good deal of money for those letters, won't you?" + +"No; a hired mail on a newspaper doesn't get much money." + +"But it must take a good deal of brains to do your work." + +"Presumably, but there stands a long row of brains ready to take the +engagement--to take it, in fact, at a cut rate. The market is full of +brains." + +"How old did you say you were?" + +"I am nearly thirty," DeGolyer answered. + +"I'm only twenty-five, but that don't make any difference; we'll have +a splendid time all the same. You read a good deal, I notice. Uncle's +got a whole raft of books, and you can read to me when you get tired +of reading to yourself. I've gone to school a good deal, but I'm not +much of a hand with a book; but I tell you what I believe--I believe I +could run a business to the queen's taste if I had a chance, and I'm +going to try it one of these days. Uncle tells me that after awhile I +may be worth some money, and if I am I'll get rich as sure as you're +born. Business was born in me, but I've never had a chance to do +anything, I have traded around a little, and I've made some money, +too, but the trouble is that I've never been settled down long enough +to do much of anything, I've scarcely any chance at all out at Ulmata. +What would you rather be than anything else?" + +"I don't know. It doesn't seem that nature has exerted herself in +fitting me for anything, and I am a strong believer in natural +fitness. We may learn to do a thing in an average sort of way, but +excellence requires instinct, and instinct, of course, can't be +learned." + +"I guess that's so. I can see hundreds of ways to make money. I'd +rather be a big merchant than anything else. Old fellow," he suddenly +broke off, "I am as happy as can be to have you go out yonder with us; +and mark what I tell you--we're going to have a splendid time." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A SLEEPY VILLAGE AND A FUSSY OLD MAN. + + +In the village of Ulmata there was just enough of life to picture the +dreamy indolence of man. Rest was its complexion, and freedom from all +marks of care its most pleasing aspect. + +Old Sawyer was so demonstrably gratified to have a companion for his +nephew that he invited DeGolyer to take a room in his house, and +DeGolyer gratefully accepted this kindness. Young Sawyer was delighted +when the household had thus been arranged, and with many small +confidences and unstudied graces of boyish friendship, he kept his +guest in the refreshing atmosphere of welcome. And in the main the +uncle was agreeable and courteous, but there were times when he flew +out of his orbit of goodfellowship. + +Once he came puffing into the room where DeGolyer was writing, and +blusteringly flounced upon a sofa. He remained quiet for a few +moments, and then he blew so strong a spout of annoyance that DeGolyer +turned to him and asked: + +"Has anything gone wrong?" + +The old fellow's eyes bulged out as if he were straining under a heavy +load. "Yes," he puffed, "the devil's gone wrong." + +"But isn't that of ancient date?" DeGolyer asked. + +"Here, now, young fellow, don't try to saw me!" And then he broke off +with this execration: "Oh, this miserable world--this infernal pot +where men are boiled!" He rolled his eyes like a choking ox, and after +a short silence, asked: "Young fellow, do you know what I'd do if I +were of your age?" + +"If you were of my temperament as well as of my age I don't think +you'd do much of anything." + +"Yes, I would; I would confer a degree of high favor on myself. I +would cut my throat, sir." + +"Pardon me, but is it too late at your time of life?" + +"Yes, for my nerve is diseased and I am a coward, an infamous, +doddering old coward, sir. Good God! to live for years in darkness, +bumping against the sharp corners of conscience. I have never told +Henry, but I don't mind telling you that at times I am almost mad. For +years I have sought to read myself out of it, but to an unsettled mind +a book is a sly poison--the greatest of books are but the records of +trouble. Don't you say a word to Henry. He thinks that my mind is as +sound as a new acorn, but it isn't." + +"I won't--but, by the way, he is young; why don't you advise him to +kill himself?" + +The old fellow flounced off the sofa and stood bulging his eyes at +DeGolyer. + +"Don't you ever say such a thing as that again!" he snorted. "Why, +confound your hide! would you have that boy dead?" + +DeGolyer threw down his pen. "No, I would have him live forever in his +thoughtless and beautiful paradise; I would not pull him down to the +thoughtful man's hell of self-communion." + +"Look here, young man, you must have a history." + +"No, simply an ill-written essay." + +"Who was your father?" + +"A fool." + +"Ah, I grant you. And who was your mother?" + +"An angel." + +"No, sir, she--I beg your pardon," the old man quickly added. "You are +sensitive, sir." + +DeGolyer, sadly smiling, replied: "He who suffered in childhood, and +who in after life has walked hand in hand with disappointment, and is +then not sensitive, is a brute." + +"How well do I know the truth of that! DeGolyer, I have been +acquainted with you but a short time, but you appeal to me strongly, +sir. And I could almost tell you something, but it is something that I +ought to keep to myself. I could make you despise me and then offer me +your regard as a compromise. Oh, that American republic of ours, +fought for by men who scorned the romance of kingly courts, is not so +commonplace a country after all. Many strange things happen there, and +some of them are desperately foul. Is that Henry coming? Hush." + +The young man bounded into the room. "Say," he cried, "I've bargained +for six of the biggest monkeys you ever saw. That old fellow "-- + +"Henry," the uncle interrupted, taking up a hat and fanning his +purplish face, "you are getting too old for that sort of foolishness. +You are a man, you must remember, and it may not be long until you'll +be called upon to exercise the judgment of a man." + +"Oh, I was going to buy the monkeys and sell them again for three +times as much as I gave for them, but you bet that when I'm called on +to exercise the judgment, of a man I'll be there. And do you think +that I'd fool with mines or anything else in this country? I +wouldn't. I'd go to some American city and make money. Say, DeGolyer, +when are you going to start off on that jaunt?" + +"What jaunt?" the old man asked. + +"I am going to make a tour of the country," DeGolyer answered. "I'm +going to visit nearly every community of interest and gather material +for my letters, and shall be gone a month or so, I should think." + +"And I'm going with him," said Henry. + +"No," the old man replied, "you are not going to leave me here all +that time alone. I'm old, and I want you near me." + +"All right, uncle; whatever you say goes." + +When DeGolyer mounted a mule and set out on his journey, young Sawyer, +as if clinging to his friendship, walked beside him for some distance +into the country. + +"Well, I'd better turn back here," said the young man, halting. "Say, +Hank, don't stay away any longer than you can help. It's devilish +lonesome here, you know." + +"I won't, my boy." + +"All right. And say, if you can't do the thing up as well as you want +to, throw up the job and come back here, for I'll turn loose, the +first thing you know, and make enough money for both of us." + +"God bless you, I hope that you may always make enough for yourself." + +"And you bet I will, and for you, too. I hate like the mischief to see +you go away. Couldn't think any more of you if we were twin brothers. +And you think a good deal of me, too, don't you, Hank?" + +"My boy," said DeGolyer, leaning over and placing his hand on the +young fellow's shoulder, "I have never speculated with my friendship, +and I don't know how valuable it is, but all of it that is worth +having is yours. You make friends everywhere; I don't. You have +nothing to conceal, and I have nothing to make known. To tell you the +truth, you are the only real friend I ever had." + +"Look out, now. That sort of talk knocks me; but say, don't be away +any longer than you can help." + +"I won't!" He rode a short distance, turned in his saddle, waved his +hand and cried: "God bless you, my boy." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +ALL WAS DARKNESS. + + +Delays and difficulties of traveling, together with his own +determination to do the work thoroughly, prolonged DeGolyer's absence. +Nearly three months had passed. Evening was come, and from a distant +hill-top the returning traveler saw the steeple of Ulmata's church--a +black mark on the fading blush of lingering twilight. A chilly +darkness crept out of the valley. Hungry dogs barked in the dreary +village. DeGolyer could see but a single light. It burned in the +priest's house--a dark age, and as of yore, with all the light held by +the church. The weary man liberated his mule on a common, where its +former companions were grazing, and sought the house of his friends. +The house was dark and the doors were fastened. He knocked, and a +startling echo, an audible darkness, came from the valley. He knocked +again, and a voice cried from the street: + +"Who's that?" + +"Helloa, is that you, my boy?" + +There was no answer, but a figure rushed through the darkness, seized +DeGolyer, and in a hoarse whisper said: + +"Come where there's a light." + +"Why, what's the matter, Henry?" + +"Come where there's a light." + +DeGolyer followed him to a wretched place that bore the name of a +public-house, and went with him into a room. A lamp sputtered on a +shelf. Young Sawyer caught DeGolyer's hands. + +"I have waited so long for you to come back to this dreadful place. I +am all alone. Uncle is dead." + +DeGolyer sat down without saying a word. He sat in silence, and then +he asked: + +"When did he die?" + +"About two weeks after you left." + +"Did he kill himself?" + +"Good God, no! Why did you think that?" + +"Oh, I didn't really think it--don't know why I said it." + +"He was sick only a few days, and the strangest thing has come to +light! He seemed to know before he was taken sick that he was going to +die, and he spent nearly a whole day in writing--writing something for +me--and the strangest thing has come to light. I can hardly realize +it. Here it is; read it. Don't say a word till you have read every +line of it. Strangest thing I ever heard of." + +And this is what DeGolyer read by the light of the sputtering lamp: + +"Years ago there lived in Salem, Mass., two brothers, George and +Andrew Witherspoon. Their parents had passed away when the boys were +quite young, but the youngsters had managed to get a fair start in +life. Without ado let me say that I am Andrew Witherspoon. My brother +and I were of different temperaments. He had graces of mind, but was +essentially a business man. I prided myself that I was born to be a +thinker. I worshiped Emerson. I know now that a man who would +willingly become a thinker is a fool. When I was twenty-three--and +George nearly twenty-one--I fell in love with Caroline Springer. There +was just enough of poetry in my nature to throw me into a devotion +that was almost wild in its intensity, and after my first meeting with +her I knew no peace. The chill of fear and the fever of confidence +came alternating day by day, and months passed ere I had the strength +of nerve to declare myself; but at last the opportunity and the +courage came together. I was accepted. She said that if I had great +love her love might be measured by my own, and that if I did not think +that I could love her always she would go away and end her days in +grief. The wedding day was appointed. But when I went to claim my +bride she was gone--gone with my brother George. To-day, an old man, I +look back upon that time and see myself raving on the very brink of +madness. I had known that George was acquainted with Caroline +Springer--indeed, I had proudly introduced him to her. I will tell my +story, though, and not discourse. But it is hard for an old man to be +straightforward. If he has read much he is discursive, and if he has +not read he is tedious with many words. I didn't leave Salem at once. +I met George, and he did not even attempt to apologize for the wrong +he had done me. He repeated the fool saying that all is fair in love. +'You ought to be glad that you discovered her lack of love in time,' +he said. This was consolation, surely. My mind may never have been +well-balanced, and I think that at this time it tilted over to one +side, never to tilt back. And now my love, trampled in the mire, arose +in the form of an evil determination. I would do my brother and his +wife an injury that could not be repaired. I did not wish them dead; I +wanted them to live and be miserable. A year passed, and a boy was +born. I left my native town and went west. I lived there nearly three +years, and then I sent to a Kansas newspaper an account of my death. +It was printed, and I sent my brother a marked copy of the paper. Two +weeks later I was in Salem. I wore a beard, kept myself close, and no +one recognized me. I waited for an opportunity. It came, and I stole +my brother's boy. I went to Boston, to Europe, back to America; lived +here and there, and you know the rest. My dear boy, I repented +somewhat, and it was my intention, at some time, to restore you to +your parents, but you yourself were their enemy; you crept into my +heart and I could not pluck you out. For a time the story of your +mysterious disappearance filled the newspapers. You were found in a +hundred towns, year after year, and when your sensation had run its +course, you became the joke of the paragraphers. It was no longer, +'Who struck Billy Patterson?" but 'Who stole Henry Witherspoon?' Once +I saw your father in New Orleans. He had come to identify his boy; but +he went away with another consignment added to his large stock of +disappointment. Finally all hope was apparently abandoned and even the +newspapers ceased to find you. + +"Your father and mother now live in Chicago. George Witherspoon is one +of the great merchants of that city, and is more than a millionaire. +This is why I have so often told you that one day you would be worth +money. You were young and could afford to wait; I was old, and to me +the present was everything, and you were the present. + +"For some time I have been threatened with sudden death; I have felt +it at night when you were asleep; and now I have written a confession +which for years I irresolutely put aside from day to day. I charge you +to bury me as Andrew Witherspoon, for in the grave I hope to be +myself, with nothing to hide. Write at once to your father, and after +settling up my affairs, which I urge you not to neglect, you can go to +him. In the commercial world a high place awaits you, and though I +have done you a great wrong, I hope that your recollection of my deep +love for you may soften your resentment and attune your young heart to +the sweet melody of forgiveness. + +"ANDREW WITHERSPOON." + +DeGolyer folded the paper, returned it to Henry and sat in silence. +He looked at the smoking lamp and listened to the barking of the +hungry dogs. + +"What do you think, Hank?" + +"I don't know what to think." + +"But ain't it the strangest thing you ever heard of?" + +"Yes, it is strange, and yet not so strange to me. It is simply the +sequel to a well-known story. In the streets of New Orleans, years +ago, when I could scarcely carry a bundle of newspapers, I cried your +name. The story was getting old then, for I remember that the people +paid but little attention to it." + +They sat for a time in silence. Young Witherspoon spoke, but DeGolyer +did not answer him. They heard a guitar and a Spanish love song. + +"Yes, it is strange," said DeGolyer, coming hack from a wandering +reverie. "It is strange that I should be here with you;" and under a +quickening of his newspaper instincts, he added, "and I shall have the +writing of it." + +"But wait awhile before you let your mind ran on on that, Hank. I +don't want to be described and talked about so much. I know it can't +be kept out of the papers, but we'll discuss that after a while. Now, +let me tell you what I've done. I wrote to--to--father--don't that +sound strange? I wrote to him and sent him a copy of uncle's paper--I +would have sent the original, but I wanted to show that to you. I also +sent a note that mother--there it is again--wrote to uncle a long time +ago, and a lock of hair and some other little tricks. I told him to +write to me, and here's his letter. It came nearly four weeks ago. And +think, Hank, I've got a sister--grown and handsome, too, I'll bet." + +Ecstasy had almost made the letter incoherent. It was written first by +one and then another hand, with frequent interchanges; and DeGolyer; +who fancied that he could pick character oat of the marks of a pen, +thought that a mother's heart had overflowed and that a hard, +commercial hand had cramped itself to a strange employment--the +expression of affection. The father deplored the fact that his son +could not be reached by telegraph, and still more did he lament his +inability, on account of urgent business demands, to come himself +instead of sending a letter. "Admit of no delay, but set out for home +at once," the father commanded. "Telegraph as soon as you can, and +your mother and I will meet you in New Orleans. I hope that this may +not be exploited in the newspapers. God knows that in our time we have +had enough of newspaper notoriety. Say nothing to any one, but come at +once, and we can give for publication such a statement as we think +necessary. Of course your discovery, as a sequel to your abduction +years ago and the tremendous interest aroused at the time, will be of +national importance, but I prefer that the news be sent out from this +place." + +Here the handwriting was changed, and "love," "thank God," "darling +child," and emotion blots filled out the remainder of the page. + +"You see," said Witherspoon, "that I have a reason for depriving you +of an early whack at this thing. Now, I have written again and told +them not to be impatient, and that I would leave here as soon as +possible. I have settled up everything here, but I've got to go to a +little place away over on the coast and close out some mining +interests there." + +"It must be of but trifling importance, my boy, and I should think +that you'd let it go." + +"No, sir; I'm going to do my duty by that dear old man if I never do +anything else while I live." + +He held not a mote of resentment. Indeed was his young heart "attuned +to the sweet melody of forgiveness." + +"By the way, Hank, here's a letter for you." + +The communication was brief. It was from New Orleans and ran thus: +"The five letters which we have published have awakened no interest +whatever, and I am therefore instructed to discontinue the service. +Inclosed please find check for the amount due you." + +"What is it, Hank?" + +"Oh, nothing except what I might have expected. Read it." + +Witherspoon read the letter, and crumpling it, broke out in his +impulsive way: "That's all right, old fellow. It fits right into my +plan, and now let me tell you what that is. We'll leave here to-morrow +and go over to Dura and settle up there. I don't know how long it will +take, and I won't try to telegraph until we get through. Dura isn't +known as a harbor, it is such a miserably small place, but ships land +there once in awhile, and we can sail from there. But the main part of +my plan is that you are to go with me and live in Chicago; and I'll +bet we have a magnificent time. I'll go in the store, and I'll warrant +that father--don't that sound strange?--that father can get you a good +place on one of the newspapers. You haven't had a chance. Hank, and +when you do get one, I'll bet you can lay out the best of them. What +do you say?" + +"Henry," said the dark-visaged DeGolyer--and the light of affection +beamed in his eyes--"Henry, you are a positive charm; and if I should +meet a girl adorned with a disposition like yours, I would unstring my +heart, hand it to her and say, 'Here, miss, this belongs to you.'" + +"Oh, you may find one. I've got a sister, you know. What! are you +trying to look embarrassed? Do you know what I'm going to say? I'm +going to lead you up to my sister and say, 'Here, I have caught you a +prince; take him.'" + +"Nonsense, my boy." + +"That's all right; but, seriously, will you go with me?" + +"I will." + +"Good. We'll get ready to-night and start early in the morning. But I +mustn't forget to see the priest again. He was a friend when I needed +one; he took charge of uncle's burial. But," he suddenly broke off +with rising spirits, "won't we have a time? Millionaire, eh? I'll +learn that business and make it worth ten millions." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A STRANGE REQUEST. + + +The next morning, before it was well light, and at a time when brisk +youth and slow age were seeking the place of confession, Henry +Witherspoon went to the priest, not to acknowledge a sin, but to avow +a deep gratitude. The journey was begun early; it was in July. The +morning was braced with a cool breeze, the day was cloudless, and +night's lingering gleam of silver melted in the gold of morn. Young +Witherspoon's impressive nature was up with joy or down with sadness. +The prospect of his new life was a happiness, and the necessity to +leave his old uncle in a foreign country was a sore regret; so +happiness and regret strove against each other, but happiness, +advantaged with a buoyant heart as a contest-ground, soon ended the +struggle. + +On a brown hill-top they met the sunrise, and from a drowsy +roosting-place they flushed a flock of greenish birds. Witherspoon +stood in his stirrups and waved his hat. "Good-by," he cried, "but you +needn't have got up so soon. We didn't want you. Hank," he said, +turning sideways in his saddle, "I think we can get there in about +five days, at the pace we'll be compelled to go; and we can sell these +mules or give them away, just as we like. Going home! I can't get the +strangeness of it out of my head. And a sister, too, mind you. I'm +beginning to feel like a man now. You see, uncle wanted me to be a boy +as long as I could, and it was only of late that he began to tell me +that I must put aside foolishness; but I am beginning to feel like a +man now." + +"You will need to feel like one when you take up your new +responsibilities. You are playing now, but it may be serious enough +after a while." + +"What! Don't preach, Hank. Responsibilities! Why, I'll throw them over +my shoulder like a twine string. But let me tell you something. +There's one thing I'm not going to allow--they shan't say a word +against that old man. Oh, I know the trouble and grief he brought +about, but by gracious, he had a cause. If--if--mother didn't love +him, why did she say that if he didn't love her she would go away +somewhere and grieve herself to death? That was no way to treat a +fellow, especially a fellow that loves you like the mischief. And +besides, why did father cut him out? Pretty mean thing for a man to +slip around and steal his brother's sweetheart. In this country it +would mean blood." + +"You are a jewel, my boy." + +"No, I'm simply just. Of course, two wrongs don't make a right, as the +saying has it, but a wrong with a cause is half-way right, and I'll +tell them at the very start that they better not talk about the +matter. In fact, I told them so in the letter. You've had a pretty +hard time of it, haven't you, Hank?" + +"I shouldn't want an enemy's dog to have a harder one," DeGolyer +answered. + +"But you've got a good education." + +"So has the hog that picks up cards and tells the time of day," said +DeGolyer, "but what good does that do him? He has to work harder than +other hogs, and is kept hungry so that he may perform with more +sprightliness. But if I have a good education, my boy, I stole it, and +I shouldn't be surprised at any time to meet an officer with a warrant +of arrest sworn out against me by society." + +"Good; but you didn't steal trash at any rate. But, Hank, you look for +the dark when the light would serve you better. Don't do it. Throw off +your trouble." + +"Oh, I'm not disposed to look so much for the dark as you may imagine. +Throw it off! That's good advice. It is true that we may sometimes +throw off a trouble, but we can't very well throw off a cause. Some +natures are like a piece of fly-paper--a sorrow alights and sticks +there. But that isn't my nature. It doesn't take much to make me +contented." + +The weather remained pleasant, and the travelers were within a day's +ride of Dura, when Witherspoon complained one morning of feeling ill, +and by noon be could scarcely sit in his saddle. + +"Let us stop somewhere," DeGolyer urged. + +"No," Witherspoon answered, "let us get to Dura as soon as we can. +I've got a fever, haven't I?" + +DeGolyer leaned over and placed his hand on Witherspoon's forehead. +"Yes, you have." + +"The truth is, I haven't felt altogether right since the first day +after we started, but I thought it would wear off." + +When they reached Dura, Witherspoon was delirious. Not a ship was in +port, and DeGolyer took him to an inn and summoned such medical aid as +the hamlet afforded. The physician naturally gave the case a +threatening color, and it followed that he was right, for at the +close of the fourth day the patient gave no promise of improvement. +The innkeeper said that sometimes a month passed between the landing +of ships at that point. The fifth day came. DeGolyer sat by the +bedside of his friend, fanning him. The doctor had called and had just +taken his leave. + +"Give me some water, Hank." + +"Ah, you are coming around all right, my boy," DeGolyer cried. He +brought the water; and when the patient drank and shook his head as a +signal to take away the cup, DeGolyer asked; "Don't you feel a good +deal better?" + +"No." + +"But your mind is clear?" + +"Yes." + +"Shall I put another cold cloth on your head?" + +"If you please." + +And when DeGolyer had gently done this, Witherspoon said: "Sit down +here, Hank." + +"All right, my boy, here I am." + +"Hank, I'm not going to get well." + +"Oh, yes, you are, and don't you let any such nonsense enter your +head." + +"It's a good ways from nonsense, I tell you. I know what I'm talking +about; I know just as well as can be that I'm going to die--now you +wait till I get through. It can't be helped, and there's no use in +taking on over it. I did want to see my father and mother and sister, +but it can't be helped." + +DeGolyer was on his knees beside the bed. He attempted to speak, but +his utterance was choked; and the tears in his eyes blurred to +spectral dimness the only human being whom he held warm in his heart. + +"Hank, while I am able to talk I've got a great favor to ask of you. +And you'll grant it, won't you?" + +"Yes," DeGolyer Bobbed. + +For a few moments the sick man lay in silence. He fumbled about and +found DeGolyer's hand. "My father and mother are waiting for me," he +said. "They have been raised into a new life. If I never come it will +be worse than if I had never been found, for they'll have a new grief +to bear, and it may be heavier than the first. They must have a son, +Hank." + +"My dear boy, what do you mean?" + +"I mean that if I die--and I know that I am going to die--you must be +their son. You must go there, not as Henry DeGolyer, but as Henry +Witherspoon, their own son." + +"Merciful God! I can't do that." + +"But if you care for me you will. Take all my papers--take everything +I've got--and go home. It will be the greatest favor you could do me +and the greatest you could do them." + +"But, my dear boy, I should be a liar and a hypocrite." + +"No, you would be playing my part because I couldn't play it. Once you +said that you would give me your life if I wanted it, and now I want +it. You can make them happy, and they'll be so proud of you. Won't you +try it? I would do anything on earth for you, and now you deny me +this--and who knows but my spirit might enter into you and form a part +of your own? How can you refuse me when you know that I think more of +you than I do of anybody? This is no boy's prank--I'm a man now. Will +you?" + +"Henry," said DeGolyer, "this is merely a feverish notion that has +come out of your derangement. Put it by, and after a while we will +laugh at it. Is the cloth hot again?" + +"Yes." + +"I'll change it." And DeGolyer, removing the cloth and placing his +hand on his friend's forehead, added: "Your fever isn't so high as it +was yesterday. You are coming out all right." + +"No, I tell you that I'm going to die; and you won't do me the only +favor I could ask. Don't you remember saying, not long ago, that a +man's life is a pretense almost from the beginning to the end?" + +"I don't remember saying it, but it agrees with what I have often been +compelled to think." + +"Well, then, if you think that life is a pretense, why not pretend by +request?" + +"Well talk about it some other time, my boy." + +"But there may not be any other time." + +"Oh, yes, there will be. Don't you think you can sleep now?" + +"No, I don't think I can sleep and wake up again." + +But he did sleep, and he did awake again. Three more days passed +wearily away, and the patient was delirious most of the time. +DeGolyer's acquaintance with Spanish was but small, and he could +comprehend but little of what a pedantic doctor might say, yet he +learned that there was not much encouragement to be drawn from the +fact that the sick man's mind sometimes returned from its troubled +wandering. + +DeGolyer was again alone with his friend. It was a hot though a +blustery afternoon, and the sea, in sight through the open door, +sounded the deeper notes of its endless opera. + +"Hank." + +"I'm here, my boy." + +"Have you thought about what I told you to do?" + +"Are you still clinging to that notion?" + +"No; it is clinging to me. Have you thought about it?" + +"Yes." + +"And what did you think?" + +"I thought that for you I would take the risk of playing a part that +you are unable to perform. But really, Henry, I'm too old." + +"You have promised, and my mind is at ease," the sick man said, with a +smile. "Now I feel that I have given my life over to you and that I +shall not really be dead so long as you are alive. Among my things you +will find some letters written by my mother to my uncle, and a small +gold chain and a locket that I wore when I was sto--when uncle took +me. That's all." + +"I will do the best I can, but I'm too old." + +"You are only a few years older than I am. They'll never know. They'll +be blind. You'll have the proof. Go at once. You are Henry +Witherspoon. That's all." + +The blustery afternoon settled into a calm as the sun went down, and a +change came with the night. The sufferer's mind flitted back for a +moment, and in that speck of time he spoke not, but he gave his friend +a look of gratitude. All was over. During the night DeGolyer sat alone +by the bedside. And a ship came at morning. + +A kind-hearted priest offered his services. "The ship has merely +dodged in here," said he, "and won't stay long, and it may be a month +before another one comes." And then he added: "You may leave these +melancholy rites to me." + +A man stepped into the doorway and cried in Spanish: "The ship is +ready." + +DeGolyer turned to the priest, and placing a purse on the table, said: +"I thank you." Then he stepped lightly to the bedside and gazed with +reverence and affection upon the face of the dead boy. He spoke the +name of Christ, and the priest heard him say: "Take his spirit to Thy +love and Thy mercy, for no soul more forgiving has ever entered Thy +Father's kingdom." He took up his traveling-bag and turned toward the +door. "One moment," said the priest, and pointing to the couch, he +asked: "What name?" + +"Henry--Henry DeGolyer." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +DISSECTING A MOTIVE. + + +Onward went the ship, nodding to the beck and call of mighty ocean. +DeGolyer--or, rather, Henry Witherspoon, as now he knew +himself--walked up and down the deck. And it seemed that at every turn +his searching grief had found a new abiding-place for sorrow. His +first strong attachment was broken, and he felt that in the years to +come, no matter what fortune they might bring him, there could not +grow a friendship large enough to fill the place made vacant by his +present loss. An absorbing love might come, but love is by turns a +sweet and anxious selfishness, while friendship is a broad-spread +generosity. Suddenly he was struck by the serious meaning of his +obligation, and with stern vivisection he laid bare the very nerves of +his motive. At first he could find nothing save the discharge of a +sacred duty; but what if this trust had entailed a life of toil and +sacrifice? Would he have accepted it? In his agreement to this odd +compact was there not an atom of self-interest? Over and over again he +asked himself these questions, and he strove to answer them to the +honor of his incentive, but he felt that in this strife there lay a +prejudice, a hope that self might be cleared of all dishonor. But was +there ever a man who, in the very finest detail, lived a life of +perfect truth and freedom from all selfishness? If so, why should +Providence have put him in a grasping world? Give conscience time and +it will find an easy bed, and yet the softest bed may have grown hard +ere morning comes. + +"Who am I that I should carp with myself?" the traveler mused. "Have +the world and its litter of pups done anything for me?" He walked up +and down the deck. "God knows that I shall always love the memory of +that dear boy. But if all things are foreseen and are still for the +best, why should he have died? Was it to throw upon me this great +opportunity? But who am I? And why should a special opportunity be +wrought for me? But who is anybody?" + +Going whither? Home. A father--and he thought of a drunken painter. A +mother--and his mind flew back to a midnight when arms that had +carried him warm with life were cold in death. A millionaire's +son--that thought startled him. What were the peculiar duties of a +millionaire's son? No matter. They might impose a strain, but they +could never be so trying as constant poverty. But who had afflicted +him with poverty? First his birth and then his temperament. But who +gave him the temperament? He wheeled about and walked away as if he +would be rid of an impertinent questioner. + +When the ship reached New Orleans he went straightway to the telegraph +office and sent this message to George Witherspoon: "Will leave for +Chicago to-day." + +And now his step was beyond recall; he must go forward. But conscience +had no needles, and his mind was at rest. In expectancy there was a +keen fascination. He met a reporter whom he knew, but there was no +sign of recognition. A beard, thick, black and neatly trimmed, gave +Henry's face an unfamiliar mold. But he felt a momentary fear, he +realized that a possible danger thenceforth would lie in wait for him, +and then came the easing assurance that his early life, his father and +his mother, were remembered by no one of importance, and that even if +he were recognized as Henry DeGolyer, he could still declare himself +the stolen son of George Witherspoon. Indeed, with safety he could +thus announce himself to the managing editor who had sent him to Costa +Rica, and he thought of doing this, but no, his--his father wanted the +secret kept until the time was ripe for its divulgence. He went into a +restaurant, and for the first time in his life he felt himself free to +order regardless of the prices on the bill of fare. Often, when a +hungry boy, he had sold newspapers in that house, and enviously he had +watched the man who seemed to care not for expenses. As he sat there +waiting for his meal, a newsboy came in, and after selling him a +paper, stood near the table. + +"Sit down, little fellow, and have something to eat." + +This was sarcasm, and the boy leered at him. + +"Sit down, won't you?" + +"What are you givin' me?" + +"This," said Henry, and he handed him a dollar. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +WAITING AT THE STATION. + + +Men bustling their way to the lunch counter; old women fidgeting in +the fear that they had forgotten something; man in blue crying the +destination of outgoing trains; weary mothers striving to soothe their +fretful children; the tumult raised by cabmen that were crowding +against the border-line of privilege; bells, shrieks, new harshnesses +here and there; confusion everywhere--a railway station in Chicago. + +"The train ought to be here now," said George Witherspoon, looking at +his watch. + +"Do you know exactly what train he is coming on?" his wife asked. + +"Yes; he telegraphed again from Memphis." + +"You didn't tell me you'd got another telegram." + +"My dear, I thought I did. The truth is that I've been so rushed and +stirred up for the last day or so that I've hardly known what I was +about." + +"And I can scarcely realize now what I'm waiting for," said a young +woman. "Mother, you look as if you haven't slept any for a week." + +"And I don't feel as if I have." + +George Witherspoon, holder of the decisive note in the affairs of that +great department store known as "The Colossus," may not by design have +carried an air that would indicate the man to whom small tradesman +regarded it as a mark of good breeding to cringe, but even in a place +where his name was not known his appearance would strongly have +appealed to commercial confidence. That instinct which in earlier life +had prompted fearless speculation, now crystalized into conscious +force, gave unconscious authority to his countenance. He was tall and +with so apparent a strength in his shoulders as to suggest the thought +that with them he had shoved his way to success. He was erect and +walked with a firm step; he wore a heavy grayish mustache that turned +under; his chin had a forceful squareness; he was thin-haired, nearing +baldness. In his manner was a sort of firm affability, and his voice +was of that tone which success nearly always assumes, kindly, but with +a suggestion of impatience. His eyes were restless, as though +accustomed to keep watch over many things. When spoken to it was his +habit to turn quickly, and if occasion so warranted, to listen with +that pleasing though frosty smile which to the initiated means, "I +shall be terribly bored by any request that you may make, and shall +therefore be compelled to refuse it." He was sometimes liberal, though +rarely generous. If he showed that a large disaster touched his heart, +he could not conceal the fact that a lesser mishap simply fell upon +his irritated nerves; and therefore he might contribute to a stricken +city while refusing to listen to the distress of a family. + +Mrs. Witherspoon was a dark-eyed little woman. In her earlier life she +must have been handsome, for in the expression of her face there was a +reminiscence of beauty. Her dimples had turned traitor to youth and +gossiped of coming age. Women are the first to show the contempt with +which wealth regards poverty, the first to turn with resentment upon +former friends who have been left in the race for riches, the first to +feel the overbearing spirit that money stirs; but this woman had not +lost her gentleness. + +The girl was about nineteen years of age. She was a picture of style, +delsarted to ease of motion. She was good-looking and had the whims +and the facial tricks that are put to rhyme and raved over in a +sweetheart, but which are afterward deplored in a wife. + +"I feel that I shan't know how to act." + +Witherspoon looked at his daughter and said, "Ellen." + +"But, papa, I just know I shan't. How should I know? I never met a +brother before; never even thought of such a thing." + +"Don't be foolish. We are not the only people that have been placed in +such a position. No matter how you may be situated, remember that you +are not a pioneer; no human strain is new." + +"But it's the only time _I_ was ever placed in such a position." + +"Nonsense. In this life we must learn to expect anything." Mrs. +Witherspoon was silently weeping. "Caroline, don't, please. Remember +that we are not alone. A trial of joy, my dear, is the easiest trial +to bear." + +"Not always," she replied. + +A counter commotion in the general tumult--the train. + +A crowd waited outside the iron gate. A tall young man came through +with the hastening throng. He caught Witherspoon's wandering eye. +Strangers looking for each other are guided by a peculiar instinct, +but Witherspoon stood questioning that instinct. The mother could see +nothing with distinctness. The young man held up a gold chain. + +It was soon over. People who were hastening toward a train turned to +look upon a flurry of emotion--a mother faint with joy; a strong man +stammering words of welcome; a girl seemingly thrilled with a new +prerogative; a stranger in a nest of affection. + +"Come, let us get into the carriage," said Witherspoon. "Come, +Caroline, you have behaved nobly, and don't spoil it all now." + +She gave her husband a quick though a meek glance and took Henry's +arm. When the others had seated themselves in the carriage, +Witherspoon stood for a moment on the curb-stone. + +"Drive to the Colossus," he commanded. Mrs. Witherspoon put out her +hand with a pleading gesture. "You are not going there before you go +home, are you, dear?" she asked. + +"I am compelled to go there, but I'll stay only a moment or two," he +answered. "I'll simply hop out for a minute and leave the rest of you +in the carriage. There's something on hand that needs my attention at +once. Drive to the Colossus," he said as he stepped into the carriage. +A moment later he remarked: "Henry, you are different from what I +expected. I thought you were light." + +"He is just like my mother's people," Mrs. Witherspoon spoke up. "All +the Craigs were dark." + +They drove on in a silence not wholly free from embarrassment. Through +the carriage windows Henry caught glimpses of a world of hurry. The +streets, dark and dangerous with traffic, stretched far away and +ended in a cloud of smoke. "It will take time to realize all this," +the young men mused, and meeting the upturned eyes of Mrs. +Witherspoon, who had clasped her hands over his shoulder, he said: + +"Mother, I hope you are not disappointed in me." + +"You are just like the Craigs," she insisted. "They were dark. And +Uncle Louis was so dark that he might have been taken for an Italian, +and Uncle Harvey"--She hesitated and glanced at her husband. + +"What were you going to say about your Uncle Harvey?" Henry asked. + +"Nothing, only he was dark just like all the Craigs." + +There is a grunt which man borrowed from the goat, or which, indeed, +the goat may have borrowed from man. And this grunt, more than could +possibly be conveyed by syllabic utterance, expresses impatience. +Witherspoon gave this goat-like grunt, and Henry knew that he had +heard of the Craigs until he was sick of their dark complexion. He +knew, also, that the great merchant had not a defensive sense of +humor, for humor, in the exercise of its kindly though effective +functions, would long ago have put these Craigs to an unoffending +death. + +"I don't see why you turn aside to talk of complexion when the whole +situation is so odd," said Ellen, speaking to her father. "I am +not able to bring myself down to a realization of it yet, although +I have been trying to ever since we got that letter from that +good-for-nothing country, away off yonder. You must know that it +strikes me differently from what it does any one else. It is all +romance with me--pure romance." + +Witherspoon said nothing, but his wife replied: "It isn't romance +with me; it is an answer to a prayer that my heart has been beating +year after year." + +"But don't cry, mother," said Ellen. "Your prayer has been answered." + +"Yes, I know that, but look at the long, long years of separation, and +now he comes back to me a stranger." + +"But we shall soon be well acquainted," Henry replied, "and after a +while you may forget the long years of separation." + +"I hope so, my son, or at least I hope to be able to remember them +without sorrow. But didn't you, at times, fancy that you remembered +me? Couldn't you recall my voice?" Her lips trembled. + +"No," he answered, slowly shaking his head. This was the cause for +more tears. She had passed completely out of his life. Ah, the tender, +the hallowed egotism of a mother's love! + +The carriage drew up to the sidewalk, and the driver threw open the +door. "I'll be back in just a minute," said Witherspoon, as he got +out; and when he was gone his wife began to apologize for him. "He's +always so busy. I used to think that the time might come when he could +have more leisure, but it hasn't." + +"What an immense place!" said Henry, looking out. + +"One of the very largest in the world," Ellen replied. "And the +loveliest silks and laces you ever saw." A few moments later she said: +"Here comes father." + +"Drive out Michigan," Witherspoon commanded. They were whirled away +and had not gone far when the merchant, directing Henry's attention, +said: + +"The Auditorium." + +"The what?" + +"The Auditorium. Is it possible you never heard of it?" + +"Oh, yes, I remember now. It was formally opened by the President." + +He did remember it; he remembered having edited telegraph for a +newspaper on the night when Patti's voice was first heard in this +great home of music. + +"Biggest theater in the world," said Witherspoon. + +"Bigger than La Scala of Milan?" Henry asked. + +"Beats anything in the world, and I remember when the ground could +have been bought for--see that lot over there?" he broke off, +pointing. "I bought that once for eighty dollars a foot and sold it +for a hundred." + +"Pretty good sale! wasn't it?" Henry innocently asked. + +"Good sale! What do you suppose it's worth now!" + +"I have no idea." + +"Three thousand a foot if it's worth a penny. There never was anything +like it since the world began. I'm not what you might call an +old-timer, but I've seen some wonderful changes here. Now, this land +right here--fifteen hundred a foot; could have bought it not so very +long ago for fifty. I tell you the world never saw anything like it. +Why, just think of it; there are men now living who could have bought +the best corner in this city for a mere song. There's no other town +like this. Look at the buildings. When a man has lived here a while he +can't live in any other town--any other town is too slow for him--and +yet I heard an old man say that he could have got all the land he +wanted here for a yoke of oxen." + +"But he hadn't the oxen, eh?" + +"Of coarse he had," Witherspoon replied, "but who wanted to exchange +useful oxen for a useless mud-hole? Beats anything in this world." + +Henry looked at him in astonishment. His tongue, which at first had +seemed to be so tight with silence, was now so loose with talk. He had +dropped no hint of his own importance; he had made not the slightest +allusion to the energy and ability that had been required to build his +mammoth institution. His impressive dignity was set aside; he was +blowing his town's horn. + +The carriage turned into Prairie Avenue. "Look at all this," +Witherspoon continued, waving his hand. "I remember when it didn't +deserve the name of a street. Look at that row of houses. Built by a +man that used to drive a team. There's a beauty going up. Did you ever +see anything like it?" + +"I can well say that I never have," Henry answered. + +"I should think not," said Witherspoon, and pointing to the +magnificent home of some obscure man, he added: "I remember when an +old shed stood there. Just look at that carving in front." + +"Who lives there?" Henry asked. + +"Did hear, but have forgotten. Yonder's one of green stone. I don't +like that so well. Here we have a sort of old stone. That house looks +as though it might be a hundred years old, but it was put up last +year. Well, here's our house." + +The carriage drew up under the porte-cocher of a mansion built of +cobble-stones. It was as strong as a battlement, but its outlines +curved in obedience to gracefulness and yielded to the demand of +striking effect. Viewed from one point it might have been taken for a +castle; from another, it suggested itself as a spireless church. +Strangers halted to gaze at it; street laborers looked at it in +admiration. It was showy in a neighborhood of mansions. + +Mrs. Witherspoon led Henry to the threshold and tremulously kissed +him. And it was with this degree of welcome that the wanderer was +shown into his home. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +A MOTHER'S AFFECTION. + + +In one bedazzled moment we review a whole night of darkness. A luxury +brings with it the memory of a privation. The first glimpse of those +drawing-rooms, gleaming with white and warm with gold, were seen +against a black cloud, and that cloud was the past. The wanderer was +startled; there was nothing now to turn aside the full shock of his +responsibilities. He felt the enormity of his pretense, and he began +again to pick at his motive. Mrs. Witherspoon perceived a change in +him and anxiously asked if he were ill. No, but now that his long +journey was ended he felt worn by it. The father saw him with a fresh +criticism and said that he looked older than his years bespoke him; +but the mother, quick in every defense, insisted that he had gone +through enough to make any one look old; and besides, the Craigs, +being a thoughtful people, always looked older than they really were. +In the years that followed, this first day "at home" was reviewed in +all its memories--the library with its busts of old thinkers and its +bright array of new books; the sober breakfast-room in which luncheon +was served; the orderly servants; the plants; the gold fishes; the +heavy hangings; a tiger skin with a life-expressive head; the +portraits of American statesmen; the rich painting of a cow that +flashed back the tradition of a trade-mark bull on a dead wall. + +Evening came with melody in the music-room; midnight, and Henry sat +alone in his room. He was heavy with sadness. The feeling that +henceforth his success must depend upon the skill of his hypocrisy, +and that he must at last die a liar, lay upon him with cold +oppression. Kindness was a reproach and love was a censure. Some one +tapped at the door. + +"Come in." + +Mrs. Witherspoon entered. "I just wanted to see if you were +comfortable," she said, seating herself in a rocking-chair. + +"So much so that I am tempted to rebel against it," he answered. + +She smiled sadly. "There are so many things that I wanted to say to +you, dear, but I haven't had a chance, somehow." + +Her eyes were tear-stricken and her voice trembled. "It isn't possible +that you could know what a mother's love is, my son." + +"I _didn't_ know, but you have taught me." + +"No, not yet; but I will--if you'll let me." + +"If I'll let you?" He looked at her in surprise. + +"Yes, if you will bear with me. Sit here," she said, tapping the broad +arm of the chair. He obeyed, and she took his arms and put them about +her neck. "There hasn't been much love in my life, precious. Perhaps I +am not showy enough, not strong enough for the place I occupy." + +"But you are good enough to hold the place of an angel." + +She attempted to speak, but failed. Something fell on her hand, and +she looked up. The man was weeping. They sat there in silence. + +"In your early life," she said, pressing his arms closer about her +neck, "my love sought to protect you, but now it must turn to you for +support. Your uncle--but you told me not to speak of him." She paused +a moment, and then continued: "Your uncle did me a deep wrong, but I +had wronged him. Oh, I don't know why I did. And he had kept my +letters all these years." Another silence. She was the first to speak. +"Ellen loves me, but a daughter's love is more of a help than a +support." + +"And father?" + +"Oh, he is good and kind," she quickly answered, "but somehow I +haven't kept up with him. He is so strong, and I fear that my nature +is too simple; I haven't force enough to help him when he's worried. +He hasn't said so, but I know it! And of course you don't understand +me yet; but won't you bear with me?" + +In her voice there was a sad pleading for love, and this man, though +playing a part, dropped the promptings of his role, and with the +memory of his own mother strong within him, pressed this frail woman +to his bosom and with tender reverence kissed her. + +"Oh," she sobbed, "I thank God for bringing you back to me. Good +night." + +He closed the door when she was gone, and stood as though he knew not +whither to turn. He looked at the onyx clock ticking on the +mantelpiece. He listened to the rumble of a carriage in the street. He +put out his hands, and going slowly into his sleeping-room, sank upon +his knees at the bedside. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE DOMAIN OF A GREAT MERCHANT. + + +To one who has gazed for many hours upon whirling scenes, and who at +his journey's end has gone to sleep in an unfamiliar place, the +question of self-identity presents itself at morning and of the dozing +faculties demands an answer. Henry lay in bed, catching at flitting +consciousness, but missing it. He tried to recall his own name, but +could not. One moment he felt that he was on board a ship, rising and +sinking with the mood of the sea; then he was on a railway train, +catching sight of a fence that streaked its way across a field. He saw +a boy struggling with a horse that was frightened at the train; he saw +a girl wave her beflowered hat--a rushing woods, a whirling open +space, a sleepy station. Once he fancied that he was a child lying in +bed, not at midnight, but at happy, bird-chattered morning, when the +sun was bright; but then he heard a roar and he saw a street stretch +out into a darkening distance, and he knew that he was in a great +city. Consciousness loitered within reach, and he seized it. He was +called to breakfast. + +How bright the morning. Through the high and church-like windows +softened sunbeams fell upon the stairway. He heard Ellen singing in +the music-room; he met the rich fragrance of coffee. Mrs. Witherspoon, +with a smile of quiet happiness, stood at the foot of the stairs. +Ellen came out with a lithe skip and threw a kiss at him. Witherspoon +sat in the breakfast-room reading a morning newspaper. + +"Well, my son, how do you find yourself this morning?" the merchant +asked, throwing aside the newspaper and stretching himself back in his +chair. + +"First-rate; but I had quite a time placing myself before I was fully +awake." + +"I guess that's true of nearly everybody who comes to Chicago. It +makes no difference how wide-awake a man thinks he is, he will find +when he comes to this city that he has been nodding." + +Breakfast was announced. Ellen took Henry's hand and said: "Come, this +is your place here by me. Mother told me to sit near you; she wants me +to check any threatened outbreak of your foreign peculiarities." + +"Ellen, what do you mean? I didn't say anything of the sort, Henry. It +could make no difference where my mother's people were brought up. The +Craigs always knew how to conduct themselves." + +"Oh, yes," Witherspoon spoke up, "the Craigs were undoubtedly all +right, but we are dealing with live issues now. Henry, we'll go down +to the store this morning"-- + +"So soon?" his wife interrupted. + +"So soon?" the merchant repeated. "What do you mean by so soon? Won't +it be time to go?" + +"Oh, yes, I suppose so." + +"And where do I come in?" asked the girl. + +"You can go if you insist," said Witherspoon, "but there are matters +that he and I must arrange at once. We've got to fix up some sort of +statement for the newspapers; can't keep this thing a secret, you +know, and a tailor must be consulted. Your clothes are all right, my +son," he quickly added, "but--well, you understand." + +Henry understood, but he had thought when he left New Orleans that he +was well dressed. And now for a moment he felt ragged. + +"When shall we have the reception?" Ellen asked. + +"The reception," Henry repeated, looking up in alarm. + +"Why, listen to him," the girl cried. "Don't you know that we must +give a reception? Why, we couldn't get along without it; society would +cut us dead. Think how nice it will be--invitations with 'To meet Mr. +Henry Witherspoon' on them." + +"Must I go through that?" Henry asked, appealing to Mrs. Witherspoon. + +"Of course you must, but not until the proper time." + +"Why, it will be just splendid," the girl declared. "You ought to have +seen me the night society smiled and said, 'Well, we will now permit +you to be one of us.' Oh, the idea of not showing you off, now that +we've caught you, is ridiculous. You needn't appeal to mother. You +couldn't keep her from parading you up and down in the presence of her +friends." + +He was looking at Mrs. Witherspoon. She smiled with more of humor than +he had seen her face express, and thus delivered her opinion: "If we +had no reception, people would think that we were ashamed of our son." + +"All right, mother; if you want your friends to meet the wild man of +Borneo who has just come to town, I have nothing more to say. Your +word shall be a law with me; but I must tell you that whenever you +make arrangements into which I enter, you must remember that society +and I have had scarcely a hat-tipping acquaintance. I may know many +things that society never even dreamed of, but some of society's +simplest phases are dangerous mysteries to me." + +"Nonsense," said Witherspoon. "Society may rule a poor man, but a rich +man rules society. Common sense always commands respect, for nearly +every rule that governs the conduct of man is founded upon it. Don't +you worry about the reception or anything else. You are a man of the +world, and to such a man society is a mere plaything." + +"Well," replied Ellen, wrinkling her handsome brow with a frown, "I +must say that you preach an odd sort of sermon. Society is supposed to +hold the culture and the breeding of a community, sir." + +"Yes, supposed to," Witherspoon agreed. + +"Oh, well, if you question it I won't argue with you." And giving +Henry a meaning look, she continued: "Of course business is first. Art +drops on its worn knees and prays to business, and literature begs it +for a mere nod. Everything is the servant of business." + +"Everything in Chicago is," the merchant replied. + +"Art is the old age of trade," said Henry. "A vigorous nation buys and +sells and fights; but a nation that is threatened with decay paints +and begs." + +"Good!" Witherspoon exclaimed. "I think you've hit it squarely. Since +we went to Europe, Ellen has had an idea that trade is rather low in +the scale of human interest." + +"Now, father, I haven't any such idea, and you know it, too. But I do +think that people who spend their lives in getting money can't be as +refined as those who have a higher aim." + +Witherspoon grunted. "What do you call a higher aim? Hanging about a +picture gallery and simpering over a lot of long-haired fellows in +outlandish dress, ha? Is it refinement to worship a picture simply +because you are not able to buy it? Some people rave over art, and we +buy it and hang it up at home." + +She laughed, and slipping off her chair, ran round to her father and +put her arms about his neck. "I can always stir you up, can't I?" + +"You can when you talk that way," he answered. + +"But you know I don't mean that you aren't refined. Who could be more +gentle than you are? But you must let me enjoy an occasional mischief. +My mother's people, the Craigs, were all full of mischief, and" + +"Ellen," said her mother. + +Witherspoon laughed, and reaching back, pretended to pull the girl's +ears. "Am I going down town with you?" she asked. + +"No, not this morning. I'm going to drive Henry down in the light +buggy. My boy, I've got as fine a span of bay horses as you ever saw. +Cost me five thousand apiece. That's art for you; eh, Ellen?" + +"They are beautiful," she admitted. + +"Yes, and strung up with pride. Get ready, Henry, and we'll go." + +When Witherspoon gathered up the lines and with the whip touched one +of the horses, both jumped as though startled by the same impulse. + +"There's grace for you," said Witherspoon. "Look how they plant their +fore feet." + +Henry did not answer. He was looking back at a palace, his home; and +he, too, was touched with a whip--the thrilling whip of pride. It +lasted but a moment. His memory threw up a home for the friendless, +and upon a background of hunger, squalor and wretchedness his fancy +flashed the picture of an Italian hag, crooning and toothless. + +"We'll turn into Michigan here," said the merchant. "Isn't this a +great thoroughfare? Yonder is where we lived before we built our new +house. Just think what this will be when these elms are old." They +sped along the smooth drive. "Ho, boys! Business is creeping out this +way, and that is the reason I got over on Prairie. See, that man has +turned his residence into a sort of store. A little farther along you +will see fashionable humbuggery of all sorts. These are women fakes +along here. Ho, boys, ho! There's where old man Colton lives. We'll +meet him at the store. In the Colossus Company he is next to me. Smart +old fellow, but he worked many years in the hammer-and-tongs way, and +he probably never would have done much if he hadn't been shoved. Ho, +boys, _ho_! People ought to be arrested for piling brick in the street +this way. Colton was always afraid of venturing; shuddered at the +thought of risking his money; wanted it where he could lay his hands +on it at any time. Brooks, his son-in-law, is a sort of general +manager over our entire establishment, and he is one of the most +active and useful men I ever saw--bright, quick, characteristically +American. I think you'll like him. That place over there"--cutting his +whip toward an old frame house scalloped and corniced in fantastic +flimsiness--"was sold the other day at about thirty per cent more than +it would have brought a few years ago." + +They turned into another street and were taken up, it seemed, by the +swift trade currents that swirl at morning, rush through the noon, +glide past the evening and rest for a time in the semi-calm of +midnight. Chicago has begun to set the pace of a nervous nation's +progress. It is a city whose growth has proved a fatal example to many +an overweaning town. Materialistic, it holds no theory that points not +to great results; adventurous, it has small patience with methods that +slowness alone has stamped as legitimate. Worshiping a deification of +real estate, and with a rude aristocracy building upon the blood of +the sow and the tallow of the bull, its atmosphere discourages one +artist while inviting another to rake up the showered rewards of a +"boom" patronage. Feeling that naught but sleepiness and sloth should +be censured, it resents even a kindly criticism. Quick to recognize +the feasibility of a scheme; giving money, but holding time as a +sacred inheritance. It is a re-gathering of the forces that peopled +America and then made her great among nations; a mighty community with +a growing literary force and with its culture and its real love for +the beautiful largely confined to the poor in purse; grand in a +thousand respects; with its history glaring upon the black sky of +night; with the finest boulevards in America and the filthiest +alleys--a giant in need of a bath. + +The Colossus stood as a towering island with "a tide in the affairs of +men" sweeping past. And it seemed to Henry that the buggy was cast +ashore as a piece of driftwood that touches land and finds a lodgment. +At an earlier day, and not so long ago either, the flaw of unconscious +irony might have been picked in the name Colossus, but now the +establishment, covering almost a block and rising story upon story, +filled in the outlines of its pretentious christening. + +"Tap, tap, tap--cash, 46; tap, tap--cash, 63," was the leading strain +in this din of extensive barter and petty transaction. The Colossus +boasted that it could meet every commercial demand; supply a +sewing-machine needle or set up a saw-mill; receipt for gas bills and +water rates or fit out a general store. Under one roof it held the +resources of a city. Henry was startled by its immensity, and as he +followed Witherspoon through labyrinths of bright gauzes and avenues +of somber goods, he perceived that a change in the tone of the hum +announced the approach of the master. And it appeared that, no matter +what a girl might be doing, she began hurriedly to do something else +the moment she spied Witherspoon coming toward her. The quick signs of +flirtation, signals along the downward track of morality, subsided +whenever this ruler came within sight; and the smirk bargain-counter +miss would actually turn from the grinning idiocy of the bullet-headed +fellow who had come in to admire her and would deign to wait on a +poorly dressed woman who had failed to attract her attention. + +The offices of the management were on the first floor, and Henry was +conducted thither and shown into Witherspoon's private apartment--into +the calico, bombazine, hardware and universal nick-nack holy of +holies. The room was not fitted up for show, but for business. Its +furniture consisted mainly of a roll-top desk, a stamp with its handle +sticking up like the tail of an excited cat, a dingy carpet and +several chairs of a shape so ungenial to the human form as to suggest +that a hint at me desirability of a visitor's early withdrawal might +have been incorporated in their construction. + +"I will see if Colton has come down," Witherspoon remarked, glancing +through a door into another room. "Yes, there he is. He's coming. Mr. +Colton," said Witherspoon, with deep impressiveness, "this is my son +Henry." + +The old man bowed with a politeness in which there was a reminder of a +slower and therefore a more courteous day, and taking the hand which +Henry cordially offered him, said: "To meet you affects me profoundly, +sir. Of course I am acquainted with your early history, and this adds +to the interest I feel in you; but aside from this, to meet a son of +George Witherspoon must necessarily give me great pleasure." + +"Brother Colton is from Maryland," Witherspoon remarked, and a sudden +shriveling about the old man's mouth told that he was smiling at what +he had long since learned to believe was a capital hit of playfulness. +And he bowed, grabbled up a dingy handkerchief that dangled from him +somewhere, wiped off his shriveled smile, and then declared that if +frankness was a mark of the Marylander, he should always be glad to +acknowledge his native State. + +Brooks, Colton's son-in-law, now came in. This man, while a +floor-walker in a dry-goods store, had attracted Witherspoon's notice, +and a position in the Colossus, at that time an experiment, was given +him. He recognized the demands of his calling, and he strove to fit +himself to them. Several years later he married Miss Colton, and now +he was in a position of such confidence that many schemes for the +broadening of trade and for the pleasing of the public's changeful +fancy were entrusted to his management. He was of a size which +appears to set off clothes to the best advantage. His face was pale +and thoughtful, and he had the shrewd faculty of knowing when to +smile. His eyes were of such a bulge as to give him a spacious range +of vision without having to turn his head, and while moving about in +the discharge of his duty, he often saw sudden situations that were +not intended for his entertainment. + +Brooks was prepared for the meeting, and conducted himself with a +dignity that would have cast no discredit upon the ablest floor-walker +in Christendom. He had known that he could not fail to be impressed by +one so closely allied by blood to Mr. George Witherspoon, but really +he had not expected to meet a man of so distinguished a bearing, a +traveler and a scholar, no doubt. + +"Traveler enough to know that I have seen but little, and scholar +enough to feel my ignorance," Henry replied. + +"Oh, you do yourself an injustice, I am sure, but you do it +gracefully. We shall meet often, of course. Mr. Witherspoon," he +added, addressing the head of the Colossus, "we have just arrested +that Mrs. McNutt." + +"How's that? What Mrs. McNutt?" + +"Why, the woman who was suspected of shop-lifting. This time we caught +her in the act." + +"Ah, hah. Have you sent her away?" + +"Not yet. She begs for an interview with you--says she can explain +everything." + +"Don't want to see her; let her explain to the law." + +"That's what I told her, sir." + +Brooks bowed and withdrew. Old man Colton was already at his desk. + +"Now, my son," said Witherspoon, aimlessly fumbling with some papers +on his desk, "I should think that the first thing to be attended to is +that statement for the newspapers. Wait a moment, and we will consult +Brooks. He knows more in that line than any one else about the place." +He tapped a bell. "Mr. Brooks," he said when a boy appeared. Brooks +came, and Witherspoon explained. + +"Ah, I see," said Brooks. "You don't want to give it to any one paper, +for that isn't business. We'll draw off a statement and send it to the +City Press Association, and then it will be given out to all the +papers." + +"That is a capital idea; you will help us get it up." + +"Yes, sir," said Brooks, bowing. + +"That will not be necessary," Henry protested, unable to disguise his +disapproval of the arrangement. "I can write it in a very short time." + +"Ah," Witherspoon replied, "but Brooks is used to such work. He writes +our advertisements." + +"But this isn't an advertisement, and I prefer to write it." + +"Of course, if you can do it satisfactorily, but I should think that +it would be better if done by a practiced hand." + +"I think so too," Henry rejoined, "and for that reason I recommend my +own hand. I have worked on newspapers." + +"That so? It may be fortunate so far as this one instance is +concerned, but as a general thing I shouldn't recommend it. Newspaper +men have such loose methods, as a rule, that they never accomplish +much when they turn their attention to business." + +Henry laughed, but the merchant had spoken with such seriousness that +he was not disposed to turn it off with a show of mirth. His face +remained thoughtful, and he said: "We had several newspaper men about +here, and not one of them amounted to anything. Brooks, your services +will not be needed. In fact, two of them were dishonest," he added, +when Brooks had quitted the room. "They were said to be good newspaper +men, too. One of them came with 'Journalist' printed on his card; had +solicited advertisements for nearly every paper in town. They were all +understood to be good solicitors." + +"What," said Henry, "were they simply advertising solicitors?" + +"Why, yes; and they were said to be good ones." + +"But you must know, sir, that an advertising solicitor is not a +newspaper man. It makes me sick--I beg your pardon. But it does rile +me to hear that one of these fellows has called himself a newspaper +man. Of course there are honest and able men in that employment, but +they are not to be classed with men whose learning, judgment and +strong mental forces make a great newspaper." + +So new a life sprang into his voice, and so strong a conviction +emphasized his manner, that Witherspoon, for the first time, looked on +him with a sort of admiration. + +"Well, you seem to be loaded on this subject." + +"Yes, but not offensively so, I hope. Now, give me the points you want +covered." + +"All right; sit here." + +Henry took Witherspoon's chair; the merchant walked up and down the +room. The points were agreed upon, and the writer was getting well +along with his work when Witherspoon suddenly paused in his walk and +said to some one outside: "Show him in here." + +A pale and restless-looking young man with green neckwear entered the +room. "Now, sir," the merchant demanded somewhat sharply, "what do you +want with me? You have been here three or four times, I understand. +What do you want?" + +"We are not alone," the young man answered, glancing at Henry. + +"State your business or get out." + +"Well, it's rather a delicate matter, sir, and I didn't want anything +to do with it, but we don't always have our own way, you know. Er--the +editor of the paper"-- + +"What paper?" + +"The _Weekly Call_. The editor sent me with instructions to ask you if +this is true?" + +He handed a proof-slip to the merchant, and Henry saw Witherspoon's +face darken as he read it. The next moment the great merchant stormed: +"There isn't a word of truth in it. It is an infamous lie from start +to finish." + +"I told him I didn't think it was true," said the young man, "but he +talked as if he believed it; remarked that you never advertised with +him anyway." + +"Advertise with him! Why, I didn't know until this minute that such a +paper existed. How much of an advertisement does he expect?" + +"Hold on a moment!" Henry cried. "Let me kick this fellow into the +street." + +"Nothing rash," said Witherspoon, putting out his hand. "Sit down, +Henry. It will be all right. It's something you don't understand." And +speaking to the visitor, he added: "Send me your rates." + +"I have them here, sir," he replied, shying out of Henry's reach. He +handed a card to Witherspoon. + +"Let me see, now. Will half a column for a year be sufficient?" + +"Well, that's rather a small ad, sir." + +Henry got up again. "I think I'd better kick him into the street." + +"No, no; sit down there. Let me manage this. Here." The blackmailer +had retreated to the door. "You go back to your editor and tell him +that I will put in a column for one year. Wait. Has anybody seen +this?" he added, holding up the proof-slip. + +"Nobody, sir, and I will have the type distributed as soon as I get +back." + +"See that you do. Tell Brooks; he will send you the copy. Now get out. +Infamous scoundrel!" he said when the fellow was gone. "But don't say +anything about it at home, for it really amounts to nothing." + +He tore the proof-slip into small fragments and threw them into the +spittoon. + +"What is it all about?" Henry asked. + +"Oh, it's the foulest of fabrication. About a year ago there came a +widow from Washington with a letter from one of our friends, and asked +for a position in the store. Well, we gave her employment, and--and it +is about her; but it really amounts to nothing." + +"Why, then, didn't you let me kick the scoundrel into the street?" + +"My dear boy, to a man who has the money it is easier to pay than to +explain. The public is greedy for scandal, but looks with suspicion +and coldness upon a correction. One is sweet; the other is tasteless. +The rapid acquisition of wealth is associated with some mysterious +crime, and men who have failed in wild speculations are the first to +cry out against the millionaire. The rich man must pay for the +privilege of being rich." + +The statement was sent to the city press. It reminded the public of +the abduction of Henry Witherspoon; touched upon the sensation created +at the time, and upon the long season of interest that had followed; +explained the part which the uncle had played, and delicately gave his +cause for playing it. And the return of the wanderer was set forth +with graphic directness. + +At noon the merchant and Henry ate luncheon in a club where thick rugs +hushed a foot-fall into a mere whisper of a walk, where servants, +grave of countenance and low of voice, seemed to underscore the +chilliness of the place. Henry was introduced to a number of +astonished men, who said that they welcomed him home, and who +immediately began to talk about something else; and he was shown +through the large library, where a solitary man sat looking at the +pictures in a comic weekly. After leaving the club they went to a +tailor's shop, and then drove over the boulevards and through the +parks. Witherspoon, with no pronounced degree of pride, had conducted +Henry through the Colossus; he had been pleased, of course, at the +young man's astonishment, and he must have been moved by a strong +surge of self-glorification when his son wondered at the broadness of +the Witherspoon empire, yet he had held in a strong subjection all +signs of an unseemly pride. But when he struck the boulevard system, +his dignified reserve went to pieces. + +"Finest on earth; no doubt about that. Oh, of course, many years of +talk and thousands of pages of print have paved the Paris boulevards +with peculiar interest, but wipe out association, and where would they +be in comparison with these? Look at that stretch. And a few years ago +this land could have been picked up for almost nothing. Look at those +flowers." + +It was now past midsummmer, but no suggestion of a coming blight lay +upon the flower-beds. "Look at those trees. Why, in time they will +knock the New Haven elms completely out." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE INTERVIEWERS. + + +When they reached home at evening they found that five reporters had +been shown into the library and were waiting for them. + +"Glad to see you, gentlemen," said Witherspoon, smiling in his way of +pleasant dismissal, "but really that statement contains all that it is +necessary for the public to know. We don't want to make a sensation of +it, you understand." + +"Of course not," one of the newspaper men replied. + +"And," said the merchant, with another smile, "I don't know what else +can be said." + +But the smile had missed its aim. The attention of the visitors was +settled upon Henry. There was no chance for separate interviews, and +questions were asked by first one and then another. + +"You had no idea that your parents were alive?" + +"Not until after my uncle's death." + +"Had he ever told you why you were in his charge?" + +"Yes; he said that at the death of my parents I had been given to +him." + +"You of course knew the story of the mysterious disappearance of Henry +Witherspoon." + +"Yes; when a boy I had read something about it." + +"In view of the many frauds that had been attempted, hadn't you a +fear that your father might he suspicious of you?" + +"No; I had forwarded letters and held proof that could not be +disputed. The mystery was cleared up." + +"How old are you?" + +"I shall be twenty-five next--next"-- + +"December the fourteenth," Witherspoon answered for him. + +"The truth is," said Henry, "uncle did not remember the exact date of +my birth." + +"Was your uncle a man of means?" + +"Well, I can hardly say that he was. He speculated considerably, and +though he was never largely successful, yet he always managed to live +well." + +"Were you engaged in any sort of employment?" + +"Yes, at different times I was a reporter." + +"It is not necessary that the public should know all this," said +Witherspoon. + +"But we can't help it," Henry replied. "The statement we sent out +would simply serve to hone and strap public curiosity to a keen edge. +I expected something of this sort. The only thing to do is to get +through with it as soon as we can." + +When the interview was ended Henry went to the front door with the +reporters, and at parting said to them: "I hope to see you again, +gentlemen, and doubtless I shall. I am one of you." + +At dinner that evening Witherspoon was in high spirits. He joked--a +recreation rare with him--and he told a story--a mental excursion of +marked uncommonness. + +"What, Henry, don't you drink wine at all?" the merchant asked. + +"No, sir, I stand in mortal fear of it." The vision of a drunken +painter, he always fancied, hung like a fog between him and the liquor +glass. + +"It's well enough, my son." + +"None of the Craigs were drunkards," said Ellen, giggling. + +"Ellen," Mrs. Witherspoon solemnly enjoined, "my mother's people shall +not be made sport of. It is true that there were no drunkards among +them. And why?" + +"Because none of them got drunk, I should think," Henry ventured to +suggest. + +"That, of course, was one reason, my son, but the main reason was that +they knew how to govern themselves." + +The evening flew away with music and with talk of a long ago made +doubly dear by present happiness. The hour was growing late. +Witherspoon and Henry sat in the library, smoking. Ellen had gone to +her room to draft a form for the invitation to Henry's reception, and +Mrs. Witherspoon was on a midnight prowl throughout the house, and +although knowing that everything was right, yet surprised to find it +so. + +"Now, my boy," said the merchant, "we will talk business. Your mother, +and particularly your sister, thought it well for me to make you an +allowance, and while I don't object to the putting of money aside for +you, yet I should rather have you feel the manliness which comes of +drawing a salary for services rendered. That is more American. You see +how useful Brooks has made himself. Now, why can't you work yourself +into a similar position? In the future, the charge of the entire +establishment may devolve upon you. All that a real man wants is a +chance, and such a chance as I now urge upon you falls to the lot of +but few young men. Had such an opportunity been given to me when I was +young, I should have regarded myself as one specially favored by the +partial goddess of fortune." + +He was now walking up and down the room. He spoke with fervor, and +Henry saw how strong he was and wondered not at his great success. + +"I don't often resort to figures of speech," Witherspoon continued, +"but even the most practical man feels sometimes that illustration is +a necessity. Words are the trademarks of the goods stored in the mind, +and a flashy expression proclaims the flimsy trinket." + +Was his unwonted indulgence in wine at dinner playing rhetorical +tricks with his mind? + +"I spoke just now of the partial goddess of fortune," the merchant +continued, "in the hope that I might impress you with a deplorable +truth. Fortune is vested with a peculiar discrimination. It appears +more often to favor the unjust than the just. Ability and a life of +constant wooing do not always win success, for luck, the factotum of +fortune, often bestows in one minute a success which a life-time of +stubborn toil could not have achieved. Therefore, I say to you, think +well of your position, and instead of drawing idly upon your great +advantage, add to it. Successful men are often niggardly of advice, +while the prattling tongue nearly always belongs to failure; +therefore, when a successful man does advise, heed him. I think that I +should have succeeded in nearly any walk of life. Sturdy New England +stock, the hard necessity for thrift, and the practical common school +fitted me to push my way to the front. Don't think that I am boasting. +It is no more of vanity for one to say 'I have succeeded' than to say +'I will succeed.'" He paused a moment and stood near Henry's chair. +"You have the chance to become what I cannot be--one of the wealthiest +men in this country." He sat down, and leaning back in his +leather-covered chair, stretched forth his legs and crossed his +slippered feet. He looked at Henry. + +"To some men success is natural, and to others it is impossible," +Henry replied. "I can well see that prosperity could not long have +kept beyond your reach. Your mind led you in a certain direction, and +instead of resisting, you gladly followed it. You say that you should +have been a success in any walk of life, and while it is true that you +would have made money, it does not follow that you would have found +that contentment which is beyond all earthly price. I admit that the +opportunity which you offer me is one of rarest advantage, but knowing +myself, I feel that in accepting it I should be doing you an +injustice. It may be so strange to you that you can't understand it, +yet I haven't a single commercial instinct; and to be frank with you, +that great store would be a penitentiary to me. Wait a moment." +Witherspoon had bounded to his feet. "I am willing to do almost +anything," Henry continued, "but I can't consent to a complete +darkening of my life. I admit that I am peculiar, and shall not +dispute you in your belief that my mind is not strong, but I am firm +when it comes to purpose. To hear one say that he doesn't care to be +the richest man in the country may strike you as the utterance of a +fool, and yet I am compelled to say it. I don't want you to make me an +allowance. I don't want"-- + +"What in God's name do you want, sir!" Witherspoon exclaimed. He was +walking up and down the room, not with the regular paces which had +marked his stroll a few moments before, but with the uneven tread of +anger. "What in God's name can you ask?" + +He turned upon Henry, and standing still, gave him a look of hard +inquiry. + +"I ask nothing in God's name, and surely nothing in my own. I knew +that this would put you out, and I dreaded it, but it had to come. +Suppose that at my age the opportunity to manage a cattle ranch had +been offered you." + +"I would have taken it; I would have made it the biggest cattle ranch +in the country. It galls me, sir, it galls me to see my own children +sticking up their noses at honest employment." + +"Pardon me, but so far as I am concerned you are wrong. I seek honest +employment. But what is the most honest employment? Any employment +that yields an income? No; but the work that one is best fitted for +and which is therefore the most satisfactory. If you had shaped my +early life"-- + +"Andrew was a fool!" Witherspoon broke in. "He was crazy." + +"But he was something of a gentleman, sir." + +"Gentleman!" Witherspoon snorted; "he was the worst of all thieves--a +child-stealer." + +"And had you been entirely blameless, sir?" + +"What! and do you reproach me? Now look here." He pointed a shaking +finger at Henry. "Don't you ever hint at such a thing again. My God, +this is disgraceful!" he muttered, resuming his uneven walk. "My hopes +were so built up. Now you knock them down. What the devil do you +want, sir!" he exclaimed, wheeling about. + +"I will tell you if you will listen." + +"Oh, yes, of course you will. It will no doubt do you great good to +humiliate me." + +"When you feel, sir, that I am humiliating you, one word is all you +need to say." + +"What's that? Come now, no foolish threats. What is it you want to +do?" + +"I have an idea," Henry answered, "that I could manage a newspaper." + +"The devil you have." + +"Yes, the devil I have, if you insist. I am a newspaper man and I like +the work. It holds a fascination for me while everything else is dull. +Now, I have a proposal to make, not a modest one, perhaps, but one +which I hope you will patiently consider--if you can. It would be easy +for you to get control of some afternoon newspaper. I can take charge +of it, and in time pay back the money you invest. I don't ask you to +give me a cent." + +The merchant was about to reply, when Mrs. Witherspoon entered the +room. "Why, what is the matter?" she asked. + +Witherspoon resumed his seat, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, +stretched forth his legs, crossed his feet and nervously shook them. + +"What is the matter?" she repeated. + +"Everything's the matter," Witherspoon declared. "I have +suggested"--he didn't say demanded--"that Henry should go into the +store and gradually take charge of the whole thing, and he positively +refuses. He wants to ran a newspaper." The merchant grunted and shook +his feet. + +"But is there anything so bad about that?" she asked. "I am sure it is +no more than natural. My uncle Louis used to write for the Salem +_Monitor_." + +He looked at her--he did not say a word, but he looked at her. + +"And Uncle Harvey"-- + +He grunted, flounced out of his chair and quitted the room. + +"Mother," said Henry, getting up and taking her hand, "I am grieved +that this dispute arose. I know that he is set in his ways, and it is +unfortunate that I was compelled to cross him, but it had to come +sooner or later." + +"I am very sorry, but I don't blame you, my son. If you don't want to +go into the store, why should you?" + +They heard Witherspoon's jolting walk, up and down the hall. + +"You have but one life here on this earth," she said, "and I don't see +why you should make that one life miserable by engaging in something +that is distasteful to you. But if your father has a fault it is that +he believes every one should think as he does. Don't say anything more +to him to-night." + +When Henry went out Witherspoon was still walking up and down the +hall. They passed, but took not the slightest notice of each other. +How different from the night before. Henry lay awake, thinking of the +dead boy, and pictured his eternal sleeping-place, hard by the stormy +sea. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +ROMPED WITH THE GIRL. + + +The morning was heavy and almost breathless. The smoke of the city +hung low in the streets. Henry had passed through a dreamful and +uneasy sleep. He thought it wise to remain in his room until the +merchant was gone down town, and troublously he had begun to doze +again when Ellen's voice aroused him. "Come on down!" she cried, +tapping on the door. "You just ought to see what the newspapers have +said about you. Everybody in the neighborhood is staring at us. Come +on down." + +Witherspoon was sitting on a sofa with a pile of newspapers beside +him. He looked up as Henry entered, and in the expression of his face +there was no displeasure to recall the controversy of the night +before. + +"Well, sir," said he, "they have given you a broad spread." + +The reporters had done their work well. It was a great sensation. +Henry was variously described. One report said that he had a +dreaminess of eye that was not characteristic of this strong, +pragmatic family; another declared him to be "tall, rather handsome, +black-bearded, and with the quiet sense of humor that belongs to the +temperament of a modest man." One reporter had noticed that his +Southern-cut clothes did not fit him. + +"He might have said something nicer than that," Ellen remarked, with +a natural protest against this undue familiarity. + +"I don't know why we should be spoken of as a pragmatic family," said +Mrs. Witherspoon. "Of course your father has always been in business, +but I don't see"-- + +Witherspoon began to grunt. "It's all right," said he. "It's all +right." He had to say something. "Come, I must get down town." + +"Shall I go with you?" Henry asked. + +For a moment Witherspoon was silent. "Not unless you want to," he +answered. + +They sat down to breakfast. Henry nervously expected another outbreak. +The merchant began to say something, but stopped on a half utterance +and cleared his throat. "It is coming," Henry thought. + +"I have studied over our talk of last night," said Witherspoon, "and +while I won't say that you may be right, or have any excuse for +presuming that you are right, I am inclined to indulge that wild +scheme of yours for a while. My impression is that you'll soon get +sick of it." + +Mrs. Witherspoon looked at him thankfully. "And you will give him a +chance, father," she said. + +"Didn't I say I would? Isn't that exactly what I said? Gracious alive, +don't make me out a grinding and unyielding monster. We'll look round, +Henry, and see what can be done. Brooks may know of some opening. +You'd better rest here to-day." + +"I am deeply grateful, sir, for the concession you have made," Henry +replied. "I know how you feel on the subject, and I regret"-- + +"All right." + +"Regret that I was forced"-- + +"I said it was all right." + +"Forced to oppose you, but I don't think that you'll have cause to +feel ashamed of me." + +"You have already made me feel proud of your manliness," said +Witherspoon. + +Henry bowed, and Mrs. Witherspoon gave her husband an impulsive look +of gratitude. The merchant continued: + +"You have refused my offer, but you have not presumed upon your own +position. Sincerity expects a reward, as a rule, and when a man is +sincere at his own expense, there is something about him to admire. +You don't prefer to live idly--to draw on me--and I should want no +stronger proof that you are, indeed, my son. It is stronger than the +gold chain you brought home with you, for that might have been found; +but manly traits are not to be picked up; they come of inheritance. +Well, I must go. I will speak to Brooks and see if anything can be +done." + +Rain began to fall. How full of restful meditation was this +dripping-time, how brooding with half-formed, languorous thoughts that +begin as an idea and end as a reverie. Sometimes a soothing spirit +which the sun could not evoke from its boundless fields of light comes +out of the dark bosom of a cloud. A bright day promises so much, so +builds our hopes, that our keenest disappointments seem to come on a +radiant morning, but on a dismal day, when nothing has been promised, +a straggling pleasure is accidentally found and is pressed the closer +to the senses because it was so unexpected. + +To Henry came the conviction that he was doing his duty, and yet he +could not at times subdue the feeling that pleasant environment was +the advocate that had urged this decision. But he refused to argue +with himself. Sometimes he strode after Mrs. Witherspoon as she went +about the house, and he knew that she was happy because be followed +her; and up and down the hall he romped with Ellen. They termed it a +frolic that they should have enjoyed years ago, and they laughingly +said that from the past they would snatch their separated childhood +and blend it now. It was a back-number pleasure, they agreed, but +that, like an old print, it held a charm in its quaintness. She +brought out a doll that had for years been asleep in a little blue +trunk. "Her name is Rose," she said, and with a broad ribbon she +deftly made a cap and put it on the doll's head. After a while Rose +was put to sleep again--the bright little mummy of a child's +affection, Henry called her--and the playmates became older. She told +him of the many suitors that had sought to woo her; of rich men; of +poor young fellows who strove to keep time to the quick-changing tune +of fashion; of moon-impressed youths who measured their impatient +yearning. + +"And when are you going to let one of them take you away?" Henry +asked. Holding his hand, she had led him in front of a mirror. + +"Oh, not at all," she answered, smiling at herself and then at him. "I +haven't fallen in love with anybody yet." + +"And is that necessary?" + +"Why, you know it is, goose. I'd be a pretty-looking thing to marry a +man I didn't love, wouldn't I?" + +"You are a pretty thing anyway." + +"Oh, do you really think so?" + +"I know it." + +"You are making fun of me. If you had met me accidentally, would you +have thought so?" + +"Surely; my eyes are always open to the truth." + +"If I could meet such a man as you are I could love him--'with a +dreaminess of eye not characteristic of this strong, pragmatic +family.'" + +She broke away from him, but he caught her. "If I were not related to +you," he said, "I would be tempted to kiss you." + +"Oh, you'd be _tempted_ to kiss me, would you? If you were not related +to me I wouldn't let you, but as it is--there!" + +His blood tingled. Her hair was falling about her shoulders. For a +moment it was a strife for him to believe that she was his sister. + +"Beautiful," he said, running his fingers through her hair. "Somebody +said that the glory of a woman is her hair; and it is true. It is a +glory that always catches me." + +"Does it? Well, I must put up my glory before papa comes. Oh, you are +such a romp; but I was just a little afraid of you at first, you were +so sedate and dreamy of eye." + +She ran away from him, and looking back with mischief in her eyes, she +hummed a schottish, and keeping time to it, danced up the stairway. + +When Witherspoon came to dinner he said that he had consulted Brooks +and that the resourceful manager knew of a possible opening. + +The owner of the _Star_, a politician who had been foolish enough to +suppose that with the control of an editorial page he could illumine +his virtues and throw darkness over his faults, was willing to part +with his experiment. "I think that we can get it at a very reasonable +figure," said Witherspoon. And after a moment's silence he added: +"Brooks can pull you a good many advertisements in a quiet way, and +possibly the thing may be made to turn oat all right. But I tell you +again that I am very much disappointed. Your place is with me--but we +won't talk about it. How came you to take up that line of work?" + +"I began by selling newspapers." + +Mrs. Witherspoon sighed, and the merchant asked: "And did Andrew urge +it?" + +"Oh, no. In fact I was a reporter before he knew anything about it." + +Witherspoon grunted. "I should have thought," said he, "that your +uncle would have looked after you with more care. Did you receive a +regular course of training?" Henry looked at him. "At school, I mean." + +"Yes, in an elementary way. Afterward I studied in the public +library." + +"A good school, but not cohesive," Witherspoon replied. "A thousand +scraps of knowledge don't make an education." + +"Father, you remember my uncle Harvey," said Mrs. Witherspoon. + +"Hum, yes, I remember him." + +"Well, his education did not prevent his having a thousand scraps of +knowledge." + +"I should think not," Witherspoon replied. "No man's knowledge +interferes with his education." + +"My uncle Harvey knew nearly everything," Mrs. Witherspoon went on. +"He could make a clock; and he was one of the best school teachers in +the country. I shouldn't think that education consists in committing a +few rules to memory." + +"No, Caroline, not in the committing of a thousand rules to memory, +but without rule there is no complete education." + +"I shouldn't think that there could be a complete education anyway," +she rejoined, in a tone which Henry knew was meant in defense of +himself. + +"Of course not," said the merchant, and turning from the subject as +from something that could interest him but little, he again took up +the newspaper project. "We'll investigate that matter to-morrow, and +if you are still determined to go into it, the sooner the better. My +own opinion is that you will soon get tired of it, in view of the +better advantages that I urge upon you, for the worries of an +experimental concern will serve to strengthen my proposal." + +"I am resolved that in the end it shall cost you nothing," Henry +replied. + +"Hum, we'll see about that. But whatever you do, do it earnestly, for +a failure in one line does not argue success in another direction. In +business it is well to beware of men who have failed. They bring bad +luck. Without success there may be vanity, but there can be but little +pride, little self-respect." + +Henry moved uneasily in his chair. "But among those who have failed," +he replied, "we often find the highest types of manhood." + +"Nonsense," rejoined the merchant. "That is merely a poetic idea. What +do you mean by the highest type of manhood? Men whose theories have +all been proved to be wrong? Great men have an aim and accomplish it. +America is a great country, and why? Because it is prosperous." + +"I don't mean that failure necessarily implies that a man's aim has +been high," said Henry, "neither do I think that financial success is +greatness. But our views are at variance and I fear that we shall +never be able to reconcile them. I may be wrong, and it is more than +likely that I am. At times I feel that there is nothing in the entire +scheme of life. If a man is too serious we call him a pessimist; if he +is too happy we know that he is an idiot." + +"Henry, you are too young a man to talk that way." + +"My son," said Mrs. Witherspoon, "the Lord has made us for a special +purpose, and we ought not to question His plans." + +"No, mother," Ellen spoke up, "but we should like to know something +about that especial part of the plan which relates to us." + +"My daughter, this is not a question for you to discuss. Your duty in +this life is so clearly marked out that there can be no mistake about +it. With my son it has unfortunately been different." + +The girl smiled. "A woman's duty is not so clearly marked out now as +it used to be, mother. As long as man was permitted to mark it out her +duty was clear enough--to him." + +"Hum!" Witherspoon grunted, "we are about to have a woman's +advancement session. Will you please preside?" he added, nodding at +Ellen. She laughed at him. He continued: "After a while Vassar will be +nothing but a woman's convention. Henry, we will go down to-morrow and +look after that newspaper." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +ACKNOWLEDGED BY SOCIETY. + + +The politician was surprised. He had not supposed that any one even +suspected that he wanted to get rid of the _Star_; indeed, he was not +aware that the public knew of his ownership of that paper. It was a +very valuable piece of property; but unfortunately his time was so +taken up with other matters that he could not give it the attention it +deserved. Its circulation was growing every day, and with proper +management its influence could be extended to every corner of the +country. Witherspoon replied that he was surprised to hear that the +paper was doing so well. He did not often see a copy of it. The +politician and the merchant understood each other, and the bargain was +soon brought to a close. + +And now the time for the reception was at hand. A florist's wagon +stood in front of the door, and the young man thought, "This is my +funeral." Every preparation gave him a shudder. Ellen laughed at him. + +"It's well enough for you to laugh," said he, "for you are safe in the +amphitheater while I am in the ring with the bull." + +"Why, you great big goose, is anybody going to hurt you?" + +"No; and that's the trouble. If somebody were to hurt me, I could +relieve myself of embarrassment by taking up revenge." + +At the very eleventh hour of preparation he was not only reconciled +to the affliction of a reception, but appeared rather to look with +favor upon the affair. And it was this peculiar reasoning that brought +him round: "I am here in place of another. I am not known. I am as a +writer who hides behind a pen-name." + +The evening came with a rumble of carriages. An invitation to a +reception means, "Come and be pleased. Frowns are to be left at home." +The difference between one society gathering and another is the +difference that exists between two white shoes--one may be larger than +the other. Witherspoon was lordly, and in his smile a stranger might +have seen a life of generosities. And with what a welcoming dignity he +took the hand that in its time had cut the throats of a thousand hogs. +Diamonds gleamed in the mellowed light, and there were smiles none the +less radiant for having been carefully trained. The evening was warm. +There was a wing-like movement of feathered fans. Scented time was +flying away. + +The guests were gone, and Henry sat in his room. He had thrown off the +garments which convention had prescribed, and now, with his feet on a +table, he sat smoking an old black pipe that he had lolled with on the +mountains of Costa Rica. The night which was now ending waved back for +review. Ellen, beautiful in an empire gown, golden yellow, brocaded +satin. "Why did you try to dodge this?" she had asked in a whisper. +"You are the most self-possessed man in the house. Can't you see how +proud we all are of you? I have never seen mother so happy." + +The perfume of praise was in the air. "Oh, I think your brother is +just charming," a young woman had said to Ellen, and Henry had caught +the words. + +"He is like my mother's people." Mrs. Witherspoon was talking to a +woman whose hair had been grayed and who appeared to enjoy the +distinction of being an invalid. The Coltons and the Brooks contingent +had smeared him with compliments. There was a literary group, and the +titles of a hundred books were mentioned; one writer was charming; +another was horrid. There was the group of household government, and +the servant-girl question, which has never been found in repose, was +tossed from one woman to another and caught as a bag of sweets. In the +library was a commercial and real-estate gathering, and the field of +speculation was broken up, harrowed and seeded down. + +The black-bearded muser put his pipe aside, and from this glowing +scene his thoughts flew away into a dark night when he stood in +Ulmata, knocking at the door of a deserted house. He got up and stood +at the window. Sparrows twittered. Threads of gray dawn streaked the +black warp of night. + +At morning there was another spread in the newspapers. The wonder of a +few days had spent its force, and the Witherspoon sensation was done. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +A DEMOCRACY. + + +The _Star_ was printed in an old building where more than one +newspaper had failed. The interior of the place was so comfortless in +arrangement, so subject to unaccountable drafts of cold air in winter +and breaths of hot oppression in summer, that it must have been built +especially for a newspaper office. Henry found that the working force +consisted mainly of a few young reporters and a large force of +editorial writers. The weakness of nearly every newspaper is its +editorial page, and especially so when the paper is owned by a +politician. The new manager straightway began a reorganization. It was +an easy matter to form an efficient staff, for in every city some of +the best newspaper men are out of employment--the bright and uncertain +writers who have been shoved aside by trustworthy plodders. He did not +begin as one who knows it all, but he sought the co-operation of +practical men. The very man who knew that the paper could not do +without him was told that his services were no longer needed. In his +day he had spread many an acre of platitudes; he had hammered the +tariff mummy, and at every lick he had knocked out the black dust; he +had snorted loud in controversy, and was arrogant in the certainty +that his blowhard sentence was the frosty air of satire. He was the +representative of a class. To him all clearness of expression was +shallowness of thought, and brightness was the essence of frivolity. +He soon found another place, for some of the Chicago newspapers still +set a premium upon windy dullness. + +Among the writers whom Henry decided to retain was Laura Drury. She +wrote book reviews and scraps which were supposed to be of interest to +women. Her room opened into Henry's, and through a door which was +never shut he could see her at work. The brightness and the modesty of +her face attracted him. She could not have been more than twenty years +of age. + +"Have you been long in newspaper work?" he asked, when she had come in +to submit something to him. + +"Only a short time," she answered, and returned at once to her desk. +Henry looked at her as she proceeded with her work. Her presence +seemed to refine the entire office. He fancied that her hair made the +room brighter. His curiosity was awakened by one touch of her +presence. He sought to know more of her, and when she had come in +again to consult him, he said: "Wait a moment, please. How long have +you been connected with this paper?" + +"About three months, regularly." + +"Had you worked on any other paper in the city?" + +"No, sir; I have never worked on any other paper." + +"Have you lived here long?" + +"No, sir, I have been here only a short time. I am from Missouri." + +"You didn't come alone, did you?" + +She glanced at him quickly and answered: "I came alone, but I live +with my aunt." + +She returned to her work, and she must have discovered that he was +watching her, for the next day he saw that she had moved her desk. + +Henry had applied for membership in the Press Club, and one morning a +reporter told him that he had been elected. + +"Was there any opposition?" the editor asked. + +"Not after the boys learned that you had been a reporter. You can go +over at any time and sign the constitution." + +"I'll go now. Suppose you come with me." + +The Press Club of Chicago is a democracy. Money holds but little +influence within its precincts, for its ablest members are generally +"broke." There are no rules hung on its walls, no cool ceremonies to +be observed. Its atmosphere invites a man to be natural, and warns him +to conceal his vanities. Among that body of men no pretense is sacred. +Here men of Puritan ancestry find it well to curb a puritanical +instinct. A stranger may be shocked by a snort of profanity, but if he +listens he will hear a bright and poetic blending of words rippling +after it. A great preacher, whose sermons are read by the world, sat +one day in the club, uttering the slow and heavy sentences of an +oracle. He touched his finger tips together. He was discoursing on +some phase of life; and an old night police reporter listened for a +moment and said, "Rats!" The great man was startled. Accustomed to +deliver his theories to a silent congregation, he was astonished to +find that his wisdom could so irreverently be questioned. The reporter +meant no disrespect, but he could not restrain his contempt for so +presuming a piece of ignorance. He turned to the preacher and showed +him where his theories were wrong. With a pin he touched the bubble of +the great man's presumption, and it was done kindly, for when the +sage arose to go he said: "I must confess that I have learned +something. I fear that a preacher's library does not contain all that +is worth knowing." And this, more than any of his sermons, proved his +wisdom. + +In the Press Club the pulse of the town can be felt, and scandals that +money and social influence have suppressed are known there. The +characters of public men are correctly estimated; snobs are laughed +at; and the society woman who seeks to bribe the press with she +cajolery of a smile is a familiar joke. Of course this is not wholly a +harmonious body, for keen intelligence is never in smooth accord with +itself. To the "kicker" is given the right to "kick," and keen is the +enjoyment of this privilege. Every directory is the worst; every +officer neglects his duty. + +Literary societies know but little of this club, for literary +societies despise the affairs of the real worker--they are interested +in the bladdery essay written by the fashionable ass. + +Henry was shown into a large room, brightly carpeted and hung with +portraits. On a leather lounge a man lay asleep; at a round table a +man sat, solemnly playing solitaire; and in one corner of the +apartment sat several men, discussing an outrageous clause in the +constitution that Henry had just signed. The new member was introduced +to them. Among the number were John McGlenn, John Richmond and +a shrewd little Yankee named Whittlesy. Of McGlenn's character +a whole book might be written. An individual almost wholly distinct +from his fellow-men; a castigator of human weakness and yet a +hero-worshiper--not the hero of burning powder and fluttering flags, +but any human being whose brain had blazed and lighted the world. Art +was to him the soul of literature. Had he lived two thousand years +ago, as the founder of a peculiar school of philosophy, he might still +be alive. If frankness be a virtue, he was surely a reward unto +himself. He would calmly look into the eyes of a poet and say, "Yes, I +read your poem. Do you expect to keep on attempting to write poetry? +But you may think better of it after a while. I wrote poems when I was +of your age." He did not hate men because they were wealthy, but he +despised the methods that make them rich. His temperament invited a +few people to a close friendship with him, and gently warned many to +keep a respectful distance. Aggressive and cutting he was, and he +often said that death was the best friend of a man who is compelled to +write for a living. He wrote a subscription book for a mere pittance, +and one of the agents that sold it now lives in a mansion. He regarded +present success as nothing to compare with an immortal name in the +ages to come. He was born in the country, and his refined nature +revolted at his rude surroundings, and ever afterward he held the +country in contempt. In later years he had regarded himself simply as +a man of talent, and when this decision had been reached he thought +less of life. If his intellectual character lacked one touch, that +touch would have made him a genius. When applied to him the term +"gentleman" found its befitting place. + +Careless observers of men often passed Richmond without taking +particular notice of him. He was rather undersized, and was bald, but +his head was shapely. He was so sensitive that he often assumed a +brusqueness in order not to appear effeminate. His judgment of men +was as swift as the sweep of a hawk, and sometimes it was as sure. He +had taken so many chances, and had so closely noted that something +which we call luck, that he might have been touched a little with +superstition, but his soul was as broad as a prairie, and his mind was +as penetrating as a drill; and a fact must have selected a close +hiding-place to escape his search. Sitting in his room, with his plug +of black tobacco, he had explored the world. Stanley was amazed at his +knowledge of Africa, and Blaine marveled at his acquaintance with +political history. + +"We welcome you to our club," McGlenn remarked when Henry had sat +down, "but are you sure that this is the club you wanted to join!" + +Henry was surprised. "Of course I am. Why do you ask that question?" + +"Because you are a rich man, and this is the home of modesty." + +Henry reached over and shook hands with him. "I like that," said he, +"and let me assure you that you have in one sentence made me feel that +I really belong here, not because I am particularly modest, but +because your sentiments are my own. I am not a rich man, but even if I +were I should prefer this group to the hyphenated"-- + +"Fools," McGlenn suggested. + +"Yes," Henry agreed, "the hyphenated fools that I am compelled to +meet. George Witherspoon is a rich man, but his money does not belong +to me. I didn't help him earn any of it; I borrowed money from him, +and, so soon as I can, I shall return it with interest." + +"John," said Richmond, "you were wrong--as you usually are--in asking +Mr. Witherspoon that question, but in view of the fact that you +enabled him to put himself so agreeably on record, we will excuse your +lack of courtesy." + +"I don't permit any man who goes fishing with any sort of ignorant +lout, and who spends a whole day in a boat with him, to tell me when I +am lacking in courtesy." + +Richmond laughed, put his hand to his mouth, threw back his head and +replied: "I go fishing, not for society, but for amusement; and, by +the way, I think it would do you good to go fishing, even with an +ignorant lout. You might learn something." + +"Ah," McGlenn rejoined, "you have disclosed the source of much of your +information. You learn from the ignorant that you may confound the +wise." + +Richmond put his hand to his mouth. "At some playful time," said he, +"I might seek to confound the wise, but I should never so far forget +myself as to make an experiment on you." + +"Mr. Witherspoon," remarked McGlenn, "we will turn from this rude +barbarian and give our attention to Mr. Whittlesy, who knows all about +dogs." + +"If he knows all about dogs," Henry replied, "he must be well +acquainted with some of the most prominent traits of man." + +"I am not talking much to-day," said Whittlesy, ducking his head. "I +went fooling round the Board of Trade yesterday; and they got me, and +they got me good." + +"How much did they catch you for, Whit?" McGlenn asked. + +"I won't say, but they got me, and got me good, but never mind. Ill go +after 'em." + +The man who had been asleep on the leather lounge got up, stretched +himself, looked about for a moment, and then, coming over to the +group, said: "What's all this bloody rot?" Seeing a stranger, he +added, by way of apology: "I thought this was the regular roasting +lay-out." + +"Mr. Witherspoon," said Richmond, "let me introduce Mr. Mortimer, an +old member of the club;" and when the introduction had been +acknowledged, Richmond added: "Mortimer has just thought of something +mean to say and has come over to say it. He dozes himself full of +venom and then has to get rid of it." + +"Our friend Richmond is about as truthful as he is complimentary," +Mortimer replied. + +"Yes," said Richmond, "but if I were no more complimentary than you +are truthful, I should have a slam for everybody." + +"Oh, ho, ho, no," McGlenn cried, and Richmond shouted: "Oh, I have +been robbed." + +Henry looked about for the cause of this commotion and saw a smiling +man, portly and impressive, coming toward them with a dignified mince +in his walk. And Mr. Flummers was introduced with half-humorous +ceremony. He had rather a pleasant expression of countenance, and men +who were well acquainted with him said that he had, though not so long +of arm, an extensive reach for whisky. He was of impressive size, with +a sort of Napoleonic head; and when hot on the trail of a drink, his +voice held a most unctuous solicitude. He was exceedingly annoying to +some people and was a source of constant delight to others. At one +time he had formed the habit of being robbed, and later on he was +drugged; but no one could conjecture what he would next add to his +repertory. His troubles were amusing, his difficulties were humorous, +his failures were laughable, and his sorrows were the cause for jest. +He had a growing paunch, and when he stood he leaned back slightly as +though his rotund front found ease in exhibition. As a law student he +had aimed a severe blow at justice, and failing as an attorney, he had +served his country a good turn. As a reporter he wrote with a torch, +and wrote well. All his utterances were declamatory; and he had a set +of scallopy gestures that were far beyond the successful mimicry of +his fellows. The less he thought the more wisely he talked. Meditation +hampered him, and like a rabbit, he was generally at his best when he +first "jumped up." + +He shook hands with Henry, looked at him a moment and asked: "Are you +going to run a newspaper with all those old geysers you've got over +there?" + +The new member winced. + +"Don't pay any attention to Flummers," John Richmond said. + +"Oh, yes," Flummers insisted. "You see, I know all those fellows. Some +of them were worn out ten years ago--but say, are you paying anything +over there?" + +"Yes, paying as much as any paper in the town." + +"That's the stuff; but say, you can afford it. Who rang the bell? Did +anybody ring? Boy," (speaking to a waiter), "we ought to have +something to drink here." + +"Do _you_ want to pay for it?" Richmond asked. + +"Oh, ho, ho, no, I'm busted. I've set 'em up two or three times +to-day." + +"Why, you stuffed buffalo robe, you"-- + +"Oh, well, it was the other day, then. I'm all the time buying the +drinks. If it weren't for me you geysers would dry up. Say, John, +touch the bell." + +"Wait," said Henry. "Have something with me." + +"Ah, now you command the respect of the commonwealth!" Flummers cried. +"By one heroic act you prove that your life is not a failure. These +fellows round here make me tired. Boy, bring me a little whisky. What +are you fellows going to take? What! you want a cigar?" he added, +speaking to Henry. + +"Oh, I had a great man on my staff yesterday--big railroad man. Do you +know that some of those fellows like to have a man show them how to +spend their money? I see I'm posted for dues. This municipality must +think I'm made of money." + +When he caught sight of the boy coming with the tray, a peculiar +light, such as painters give the face of Hope, illumined his +countenance, and clasping his hands, he unctuously greeted himself. + +"Mr. Flummers," said McGlenn, "we all love you." + +"Oh, no." + +"Yes; it is disreputable, but we love you. It was a long time before I +discovered your beauties. I used to think that the men who loved you +were the enemies of a higher grade of life, and perhaps they were, but +I love you. You are a great man, Mr. Flummers. Nature designed you to +be the president of a life insurance company." + +"Well, say, I know that." + +"Yes," continued McGlenn. "A life insurance company ought to employ +you as a great joss, and charge people for the privilege of a mere +glimpse of you." + +"I shouldn't think," said Richmond, "that a man who had committed +murder in Nebraska would be so extreme as to pose as the president of +a life insurance company." + +"Mr. Hammers, did you commit a murder in Nebraska?" McGlenn asked. + +"Oh, no." + +"But didn't you confess that you killed a man there?" Richmond urged. + +"Oh, well, that was a mistake." + +"What? The confession?" + +"No, the killing. You see, I was out of work, and I struck a doctor +for a job in his drug-store; and once, when the doctor was away, an +old fellow sent over to have a prescription filled, and I filled it. +And when the doctor returned he saw the funeral procession going past +the store. He asked me what it meant, and I told him." + +"Then what did he say?" + +"He asked me if I got pay for the prescription. Oh, but he was a +thrifty man!" Flummers clasped his hands, threw himself back and +laughed with a jolting "he, he, he." "Well, I've got to go. Did +anybody ring? Say, John"--to Richmond--"why don't you buy something?" + +"What? Oh, you gulp, you succession of swallows, you human sink-hole! +Flummers, I have bought you whisky enough to overflow the +Mississippi." + +"Oh, ho, ho, but not to-day, John. Past whisky is a scandal; in +present whisky there lies a virtue. Never tell a man what you have +done, John, lest he may think you boastful, but show him what you will +do now, so that he may have the proof of your ability. Is it possible +that I've got to shake you fellows? My time is too valuable to waste +even with a mere contemplation of your riotous living." + +He walked away with his mincing step. "There's a character," said +Henry, looking after him. "He is positively restful." + +"Until he wants a drink," Mortimer replied, "and then he is restless. +Well, I must follow his example of withdrawal, if not his precept of +appetite. I am pleased to have met you, Mr. Witherspoon, and I hope to +see you often." + +"I think you shall, as I intend to make this my resting-place." + +"There is another character," said McGlenn, referring to Mortimer. "He +is a very learned man, so much so that he has no need of imagination. +He is a _very_ learned man." + +"And he is charmed with the prospect of saying a mean thing," Richmond +replied. "I tell him so," he added, "though that is needless, for he +knows it himself. His mind has traveled over a large scope of +intellectual territory, and he commands my respect while I object to +his methods." + +The conversation took a serious turn, and Richmond flooded it with his +learning. His voice was low and his manner modest--a great man who in +the game of human affairs played below the limit of his abilities. +McGlenn roused himself. When emphatic, he had a way of turning out his +thumb and slowly hammering his knee with his fist. In his sky there +was a cloud of pessimism, but the brightness of his speech threw a +rainbow across it. He was a poet in the garb of a Diogenes. Many of +his theories were wrong, but all were striking. Sometimes his +sentences flashed like a scythe swinging in the sunshine. + +Henry talked as he had never found occasion to talk before. These men +inspired him, and in acknowledgment of this he said: "We may for years +carry in our minds a sort of mist that we cannot shape into an idea. +Suddenly we meet a man, and he speaks the word of life unto that mist, +and instantly it becomes a thought." + +Other members joined the group, and the conversation broke and flew +into sharp fragments. McGlenn and Richmond began to wrangle. + +"Your children may not read my books," said McGlenn, replying to some +assertion that Richmond had made, "but your great-grandchildren will." + +"Oh, that's possible," Richmond rejoined. "I can defend my immediate +offspring, while my descendants may be left without protection. If you +would tear the didacticism out of your books and inject a little more +of the juice of human interest--hold on!" Richmond threw up his arm, +as though warding off a blow. "When that double line comes between his +eyes I always feel that he is going to hit me." + +"I wouldn't hit you. I have some pity left." + +"Or fear--which is it?" + +"Not fear; pity." + +"Why don't you reserve some of it for your readers?" + +McGlenn frowned. "I don't expect you to like my books." + +"Oh, you have realized the fact that the characters are wooden?" + +"No, but I have realized that they are beyond your feeble grasp. I +don't want you to like my books." He hammered his knee. "The book that +wins your regard is an exceedingly bad production. When you search +for facts you may sometimes go to high sources, but when you read +fiction you go to the dogs. A consistent character in fiction is +beyond you." + +"There are no consistent characters in life," said Richmond, "and a +consistent character in fiction is merely a strained form of art. In +life the most arrant coward will sometimes fight; the bravest man at +times lacks nerve; the generous man may sometimes show the spirit of +the niggard. But your character in fiction is different. He must be +always brave, or always generous, or always niggardly. He must be +consistent, and consistency is not life." + +"But inconsistency is life, and you are, therefore, not dead," McGlenn +replied. "If inconsistency were a jewel," he added, "you would be a +cluster of brilliants. As it is, you are an intellectual fault-finder +and a physical hypochondriac." + +"And you are an intellectual cartoon and a physical mistake." + +"I won't talk to you. Even the semblance of a gentleman commands my +respect, but I can't respect you. I like truth, but"-- + +"Is that the reason you seek me?" + +"No, it is the reason I avoid you. Brutal prejudice never held a +truth." + +"Not when it shook hands with you," Richmond replied. + +McGlenn got up, walked over to the piano, came back, looked at his +watch, and addressing Richmond, asked: + +"Are you going home, John?" + +"Yes, John. Suppose we walk." + +"I'll go you; come on." + +They bade Henry good evening and together walked off affectionately. + +"What do you think of our new friend?" Richmond asked as they strolled +along. + +"John, he has suffered. He is a great man." + +"I don't know how he may turn out," Richmond said, "but I rather like +him. Of course he hasn't fitted himself to his position--that is, he +doesn't as yet feel the force of old Witherspoon's money. His +experience has gone far toward making a man of him, but his changed +condition may after a while throw his past struggles into contempt and +thereby corrode his manliness." + +"I don't think that he scraped up his principles from the Witherspoon +side of the house," McGlenn declared. "If he had, we should at once +have discovered in him the unmistakable trace of the hog. Oh, I don't +think he will stay in the club very long. His tendency will be to +drift away. All rich men are the enemies of democracy. If they pretend +that they are not, they are hypocrites; if they believe they are not, +it is because they haven't come to a correct understanding of +themselves. The meanest difference that can exist between men is the +difference that money makes. There is some compassion in an +intellectual difference, and even in a difference of birth there is +some little atonement to be expected, but a moneyed difference is +stiff with unyielding brutality." + +In this opinion they struck a sort of agreement, but they soon fell +apart, and they wrangled until they reached a place where their +pathway split. They halted for a moment; they had been fierce in +argument. Now they were calm. + +"Can't you come over to-night, John?" McGlenn asked. + +"No, I can't possibly come to-night, John. I've got a piece of work on +hand and must get it off. I've neglected it too long already." + +But he did go over that night, and he wrangled with McGlenn until +twelve o'clock. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +BUTTING AGAINST A WALL. + + +When we have become familiar with an environment we sometimes wonder +why at any time it should have appeared strange to us; and it was thus +with Henry as the months moved along. The mansion in Prairie Avenue +was now home-like to him, and the contrasts which its luxurious +belongings were wont to summon were now less sharp and were dismissed +with a growing easiness. Feeling the force which position urges, he +worked without worry, and conscious of a certain ability, he did not +question the success of his plans. But how much of the future did he +intend these plans to cover? He turned from this troublesome +uncertainty and found satisfaction in that state of mind which permits +one day to forecast the day which is to follow, and on a futurity +stretching further than this he resolutely turned his back. In his +work and in his rest at the Press Club, whither he went every +afternoon, he found his keenest pleasure. He was also fond of the +theater, not to sit with a box party, but to loiter with Richmond--to +enjoy the natural, to growl at the tame, and to leave the place +whenever a tiresome dialogue came on. Ellen sometimes drew him into +society, and on Sundays he usually went with Mrs. Witherspoon to a +Congregational church where a preacher who had taught his countenance +the artifice of a severe solemnity denounced the money-chasing spirit +of the age at about double the price that he had received in the East. + +The Witherspoons had much company and they entertained generously, +though not with a showy lavishness, for the old man had a quick eye +for the appearance of waste. It was noticeable, too, that since Henry +came young women who were counted as Ellen's friends were more +frequent with their visits. Witherspoon rarely laughed at anything, +but he laughed at this. His wife, however, discovered in it no cause +for mirth. A mother may plan the marriage of her daughter, for that is +romantic, but she looks with an anxious eye upon the marriage of her +son, for that is serious. + +One evening, when Witherspoon and Henry had gone into the library to +smoke, the merchant remarked: "I want, to talk to you about the course +of your paper." + +"All right, sir." + +The merchant stood on the hearth-rug. He lighted his cigar, turned it +round and round, and then said: + +"Brooks called my attention this afternoon to an article on working +girls. Does it meet with your approval?" + +"Why, yes. It was a special assignment, and I gave it out." + +"Hum!" Witherspoon grunted. He sat down in his leather-covered chair, +crossed his legs, struck a match on the sole of his slipper, relighted +his cigar, which he had suffered to go out, and for a time smoked in +silence. + +"Is there anything wrong about it?" Henry asked. + +"I might ask you if there is anything right about it," Witherspoon +replied. "'The poor ye have with you always,' was uttered by the Son +of God. It was not only a prophecy, but a truth for all ages. There +are grades in life, and who made them? Man. Ah, but who made man? God. +Then who is responsible for the grades? Nature sets the example of +inequality. One tree is higher than another." His cigar had gone out. +He lighted it again and continued: "Writers who seek to benefit the +poor of ten injure them--teach them a dissatisfaction which in its +tarn brings a sort of reprisal on the part of capital." + +"I don't agree with you," said Henry. + +"Of course not." + +"I have cause to know that you are wrong, sir." + +"You think you have," the merchant replied. + +"It is true," Henry admitted, "that we shall always have the poor with +us." + +"I thought so," said Witherspoon. + +"But it is not true that an attempt to aid them is harmful. Their +condition has steadily improved since history "-- + +"You are a sentimentalist." + +"I am more than that," said Henry. "I am a man." + +"Hum! And are you more than that?" + +"How could I be more?" + +"Easily enough. You could be an anarchist." + +"And is that a step higher?" + +"Wolves think so." + +"But I don't" + +"I hope not." + +They sat in silence. The young man was angry, but he controlled +himself. + +"It is easy to scatter dangerous words in this town," said the +merchant. "And, sir,"--he broke off, rousing himself,--"look at the +inconsistency, the ridiculousness of your position. I employ more than +a thousand people; my son says that I oppress them. I"-- + +"Hold on; I didn't say that. I don't know of any injustice that you +inflict upon your employés; but I do know of such wrongs committed by +other men. But you have shown me that the condition of those creatures +is hopeless." + +"What creatures?" + +"Women who work for a living." + +"And do you know the cause of their hopelessness?" + +"Yes; poverty and oppression." + +"Ah, but what is the cause of their poverty?" + +"The greed of man." + +"Oh, no; the appetite of man--whisky. Nine out of ten of those +so-called wretched creatures can trace their wretchedness to drink." + +"But it is not their fault." + +"Oh!" + +Henry was stunned. He saw what a wall he was butting against. "And is +this to go on forever?" he asked. + +"Yes, forever. 'The poor ye have with you always.'" + +"But present conditions may be overturned." + +"Possibly, but other conditions just as bad, or even worse, will build +on the ruins. That is the history you spoke of just now." + +"But slavery was swept away--and, let me affirm," he suddenly broke +off, "that the condition of the poorer people in this town is worse +than the slavery that existed in the South. From that slavery the +government pointed toward freedom, and mill-owners in the North +applauded--men, too, mind you, who were the hardest of masters. I can +bring up now the picture of a green lane. I can see an old negro woman +sweeping the door-yard of her cabin, and she sings a song. Her husband +is at work in the field, and her happy children are fishing in the +bayou. That is the freedom which the government pointed out--the +freedom which a God-inspired Lincoln proclaimed. But do you hear any +glad songs among the slaves in the North? Let me tell you, sir, that +we are confronted with a problem that is more serious than that which +was solved by Lincoln." + +Witherspoon looked at him as though he could think of no reply. At one +moment he seemed to be filling up with the gathering impulses of +anger; at another he appeared to be humiliated. + +"Are you my son?" he asked. + +"Presumably. An impostor would yield to your demands; he would win +your confidence that he might steal your money." + +"Yes," said the merchant, and he sat in silence. + +Henry was the first to speak. "If you were poor, and with the same +intelligence you have now, what would you advise the poor man to do?" + +"I should advise him to do as I did when I was poor and as I do +now--work. Now, let me tell you something: Last year your mother and I +gave away a great deal of money--we do so every year. Does that look +as if I am grinding the poor? You have hurt me." + +"I am sorry. But if I have hurt you with a truth, it should make you +think." + +Witherspoon looked at him, and this time it was with resentment. +"What! you talk about making me think? Young man, you don't know what +it is to think. You are confounded with the difference between +sentimentalism and thought. You go ahead and print your newspaper and +don't worry about the workingwoman. Her class will be larger and worse +off, probably, a hundred years after you are dead." + +"Yes, but before that time her class may rise up and sweep everything +before it. A democracy can't long permit a few men to hold all the +wealth. But there's no good to come from a discussion with you." + +"You are right," said Witherspoon, "but hold on a moment. Don't go +away believing that I have no sympathy for the poor. I have, but I +haven't time to worry with it. There is no reason why any man should +be poor in this country." + +Henry thought of a hundred things to say, but said nothing. He knew +that it was useless; he knew that this man's strength had blinded him +to the weakness of other men, and he felt that American aristocracy +was the most grinding of all aristocracies, for the reason that a +man's failure to reach its grade was attributable to himself alone. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A DIFFERENT HANDWRITING. + + +Henry bade Witherspoon good night and went to his room. A fire was +burning in the grate. At the window there was a rattle of sleet. He +lighted his old briar-root pipe and sat down. He had, as usual, ceased +to argue with himself; he simply mused. He acknowledged his weakness, +and sought a counteracting strength, but found none. But why should he +fight against good fortune? It was not his fault that certain +conditions existed. Why not starve the past and feed the present? But +he had begun to argue, and he shook himself as though he would be +freed from something that had taken hold of him, and he got up and +stood at the window. How raw the night! And as he stood there, he +fancied that the darkness and the sleet of his boyhood were trying to +force their way into the warmth and the light of his new inheritance. +He turned suddenly about, and bowing with mock politeness, said to +himself: "You are a fool." He lighted his pipe afresh, and sat down to +work. Some one tapped at the door. Was it Witherspoon come to deliver +another argument, and to decide again in his own favor? No, it was +Ellen. She had been at the theater. + +"You bring roses out of the storm," said Henry, in allusion to the +color of her cheeks. + +"But I don't bring flattery. Gracious! I am chilled through." She took +off her gloves and held her hands over the grate. "Everybody's gone +to bed, and I didn't know but you might be here, scribbling. Goodness, +what's that you've been smoking?" + +"A pipe." + +She turned from the fire and shrugged her shoulders. "Couldn't you get +a cigar? Why do you smoke that awful thing?" + +"It is an altar of the past, and on it I burn the memories of its +day," he answered, smiling. + +"Well, I think I would get a new altar and burn incense for the +present! Oh, but I've had the stupidest evening." + +"Wasn't the play good?" + +"No, it was talk, talk, with a stress laid on nothing. And then my +escort wasn't particularly entertaining." + +"Who?" + +"Oh, a Mr. Somebody. What have you been doing all the evening?" + +"Something that I found to be worse than useless. Father and I have +been locking horns over the--not exactly the labor question, but over +the wretchedness of working-women." + +"What do you know about the wretchedness of working-women?" she asked. + +"What do I know about it? What can I help knowing about it? How can I +shut my eyes against it?" + +"I don't see why they are so very wretched. They get pay, I'm sure. +Somebody has to work; somebody has to be poor. What are you writing?" + +"The necessary rot of an editorial page." he answered. + +"Why, how your handwriting has changed," she said, leaning over the +table. + +"How so?" + +"Why, this is so different from the letters you wrote before you came +home." + +He did not reply immediately; he was thinking. "Pens in that country +cut queer capers," he said. "Where are those letters, anyway?" + +"Mother has put them away somewhere." + +"I should like to see them again." + +"Why?" + +"Oh, on account of the memories they hold. Get them for me, and I will +give you a description of my surroundings at the time I wrote them." + +"Why, what a funny fellow you are! Can't you give me a description +anyway?" + +"No, not a good one." + +"But I don't want to wake mother, and I don't know that I can find the +letters." + +"Go and see." + +"Oh, you are so headstrong." + +She went out, and he walked up and down the room, and then stood again +at the window. Ellen returned. + +"Here they are." + +"Did you wake mother?" + +"No, but I committed burglary. I found the key and unlocked her trunk, +and all to please you." + +"Good, and for the first time burglary shall be repaid with +gratitude." + +He took the letters and looked at the sprawling characters drawn by +the hand of his friend. "When I copied this confession," said he, "I +was heavy of heart. I was sitting in a small room, looking far down +into a valley where nature seemed to keep her darkness stored, and +from, another window, in the east, I could see a mountain where she +made her light." + +"Go on," she said, leaning with her elbows on the table. + +He began to walk across the room, from the door to the grate, and to +talk as one delivering a set oration. "And I had just finished my work +when a most annoying monkey, owned by the landlord, jumped through the +window. I was so startled that I threw the folded papers at him"-- + +"What have you done!" she cried. + +He had thrown the letters into the fire, he sprang forward, and +snatching them, threw them on the hearth and stamped out the blaze. + +"Oh, I do wish you hadn't done that," she said, hoarse with alarm. +"Mother reads these letters every day, and--oh, I _do_ wish you hadn't +done it! They are all scorched--ruined, and I wouldn't have her know +that I took them out of her trunk for anything. What shall we do about +it? Oh, I know you didn't mean to do it." He had looked appealingly at +her. "I wish I hadn't got them." + +"It is only the copy of the confession that is badly burned. The +original is here on the table," he said. + +"I know, but what good will that do? The letters are so scorched that +it won't do to return them." + +"But I can copy them," he replied. + +"Oh, you genius!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. + +"Thank you," he said, bowing. Then he added: "Let me see--this paper +won't do. Where can we get some fool's-cap?" + +"There must be some in the library," she answered. "I'll slip down and +see." + +She hastened down-stairs and soon returned with the paper. "I feel +like a burglar," she said. + +"And I _am_ a forger," he replied. + +"Won't take you long, will it?" + +"No." + +The work was soon completed. The scorched letters were thrown into the +fire. "She will never know the difference," said Ellen. "It is a sin +to deceive her, but then, following the burglary, deception is a +kindness; and there can't be so very much wickedness in a sin that +keeps one from being unhappy." + +"Or keeps one from being discovered," he suggested. She laughed, not +mirthfully, but with an attempt at self-consolation. "This is our +first secret," she said, as she opened the door. + +"And I think you will keep it," he replied, smiling at her. + +She looked at him for a moment and rejoined: "Indeed, fellow-criminal! +And if you didn't smoke that horrid pipe, what a lovable convict you +would make." + +When she was gone he stood again at the window. The night was +breathing hard. He spoke to himself with mock concern: "Two hours ago +you were simply a fool, but now you are a scoundrel." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +TOLD HIM HER STORY. + + +When he awoke the next morning his blood seemed to be clogged +somewhere far from the seat of thought, and then it came with a leap +that brought back the night before. "But I won't argue with you," he +said, turning over. "Argue," he repeated. "Why, it's past argument +now. I will simply do the best I can and let the worst take care of +itself. But I do despise a vacillator, and I am one. The old man maybe +right. Nature admires strength and never pities the weak. And what am +I to do if I'm not to carry out my part of this programme? The trial +is over," he said as he got up. "I am Henry Witherspoon." + +He was busy in his room at the office when Brooks entered. + +"Well, hard at it, I see." + +"Yes. Sit down; I'll be through with this in a moment." + +He sat himself back from the desk, and Brooks asked, "Can't you go out +to lunch with me?" + +"Isn't time yet." + +"Hardly, that's so," Brooks admitted, looking at his watch. "I +happened to have business in this neighborhood and thought I'd drop +in. Say," he added in a lower tone, and nodding his head toward the +door of the adjoining room, "who is she?" + +"The literary reviewer." + +"She's a stunner. What's her name?" + +"Miss Drury." + +"You might introduce me." + +"She's busy." + +"Probably she'd go to lunch with us." + +"She refuses to go out with any one." + +"Hasn't been here long, eh?" That was the floorwalker's idea. "Well, I +must get back, if you can't go with me. So long." + +Henry took a book into Miss Drury's room. "Here's something that was +sent to me personally," said he, "but treat it as you think it +deserves." + +She looked up with a suggestion of a smile. "Are you willing to trust +the reputation of your friends to me?" she asked. + +"I am at least willing to let you take charge of their vanity." + +"Oh, am I so good a keeper of vanity?" + +"No, you are so gentle an exterminator of it." + +"Thank you," she said, laughing. Her hair seemed ready to break from +its fastenings, and she gave it those deft touches of security which +are mysterious to man, but which a little girl practices on a doll. + +"You have wonderful hair," he said. + +And she answered: "I'm going to cut it off." + +This is woman's almost invariable reply to such a compliment. Henry +knew that she would say it, and she knew that she would not cut it +off, and they both laughed. + +"How did you happen to get into newspaper work?" he asked. + +Her face became serious. "I had to do something," she answered, "and +I couldn't do anything else. My mother was an invalid for ten years, +and I nursed her, read to her day and night. Sometimes in the winter +she couldn't sleep, and I would get up and amuse her by writing +reviews of the books I had read. It was only play, but after she was +dead I thought that I might make it earnest." + +"And your father died when you were very young, I suppose." + +She looked away, and with both hands she began to touch her hair +again. "Yes," she said. + +"Tell me about him." + +"Why about him?" + +"I don't know. Because you have told me about your mother, I suppose." + +"And are you so much interested in me?" she asked, looking earnestly +at him. + +"Yes." + +"I ought not to tell you, but I will. We lived in the country. My +father was"--She looked about her and then at him. "My father was a +drunkard, but my mother loved him devotedly. One day he went to the +village, several miles away, and at evening he didn't come home, and +my mother knew the cause. It was a cold, snowy night. Mother stood at +the gate, holding a lantern. She wouldn't let me stand there with her, +it was so cold, but I was on my knees in a chair at the window, and I +could see her. She stood there so long, and it seemed so cruel that I +should be in a warm room while she was out in the cold, that I slipped +out and closed the door softly after me. I stood a short distance +behind her, and I had not been standing there long when a horse, +covered with snow, came stumbling out of the darkness. Mother called +me, and I ran to her. We went down the road, holding the lantern first +one side, then the other, that we might see into the corners of the +fences. We found him lying dead in the road, covered with snow. Mother +was never well after that night--but really I am neglecting my work." + +He returned to his desk. The proof-sheets of a leading article were +brought to him, but he sat gazing at naught that he could see. + +"Are you done with those proofs?" some one asked. + +"Take them away," he said, without looking up. He sat for a long time, +musing, and then he shook himself, a habit which he had lately formed +in trying to free himself from meditations that sought to possess him. + +He went out to luncheon, and just as he was going into a restaurant +some one spoke to him. It was old man Colton. + +"My dear Mr. Witherspoon," said the old man, "come and have a bite to +eat with me. Ah, come on, now; no excuse. Let's go this way. I know of +a place that will just suit you. This way. I'm no hand for clubs--they +bore me; they are newfangled." + +The old man conducted him into a basement restaurant not noticeable +for cleanliness, but strong with a smell of mutton. + +"Now, suppose we try a little broth," said the old man, when they had +sat down. "Two bowls of mutton broth," he added, speaking to the +waiter. "Ah," he went on, "you may talk about your dishes, but at +noontime there is nothing that can touch broth. And besides," he +added, in a whisper, "there's no robbery in broth. These restaurant +fellows are skinners of the worst order. I'll tell you, my dear Mr. +Witherspoon, everything teaches us to practice economy. We must do +it; it's the saving clause of life. Now, what could be better than +this? Go back to work, and your head's clear. My dear Mr. Witherspoon, +if I had been a spendthrift, I should not only be a pauper--I should +have been dead long ago." + +He continued to talk on the virtues of economy. "Won't you have some +more broth?" + +"No, thank you." + +"Won't you have something else?" he asked, in a tone that implied +extreme fear. + +"No, I'm not hungry to-day." + +This announcement appeared greatly to relieve the old man. "Oh, you'll +succeed in life, my dear young man; but really you ought to come into +the store with us. It would do your father so much good; he would feel +that he has a sure hold on the future, you understand. You don't know +what a comfort Brooks is to me. Why, if my daughter had married a man +in any other line, I--well, it would have been a great disappointment. +Are you going back to work now?" + +"No; to the Press Club." + +"Why don't you come to see us oftener?" + +"Oh, I'm there often enough, I should think--two or three times a +week." + +"Yes, of course, but we are all so anxious that you should become +interested in our work. Don't discourage yourself with the belief that +a man brought up in the South is not a good business man. I am from +the South, my dear Mr. Witherspoon." + +They had reached the sidewalk, and the roar from the street impelled +the old man to force his squeaky voice into a split shout. + +"Southern man"--He was bumped off by the passing throng, but he got +back again and shouted: "Southern man has just as good commercial +ability as anybody. Well, I must leave you here." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +AN AROUSER OF THE SLEEPY. + + +In the Press Club Henry found Mr. Flummers haranguing a party of men +who sat about the round table. He stood that he might have room in +which to scallop his gestures, and he had reached a climax just as +Henry joined the circle. He waited until all interruptions had ceased +and then continued: "Milwaukee was asleep, and I was sent up there to +arouse it. But I shook it too hard; I hadn't correctly measured my own +strength. The old-timers said, 'Let us doze,' but I commanded, 'Wake +up here now, and get a move on you,' and they had to wake up. But they +formulated a conspiracy against me, and I was removed." + +"How were you removed, Mr. Flummers?" McGlenn asked. + +"Oh, a petition, signed by a thousand sleepy citizens, was sent down +here to my managing editor, and I was requested to come away. Thus was +my Milwaukee career ended, but it ended in a blaze that dazzled the +eyes of the old-timers." He cut a scallop. "But papa was not long +idle. The solid South wanted him. They knew that papa was the man to +quiet a disturbance or compel a drowsy municipality to get up and rub +its eyes. Well, I went to Memphis. What was the cause of the great +excitement that followed?" He tapped his forehead. "Papa's nut. But +again had he underestimated himself; again was he too strong for the +occasion. He tossed up the community in his little blanket, and while +it was still in the air, papa skipped, and the railroad train didn't +go any too fast for him." + +"And was that the time you went over into Arkansas and murdered a +man?" Richmond asked. + +"Oh, no; you are mixing ancient history with recent events. But say, +John, you haven't bought anything to-day." + +"Why, you paunch-bulging liar, I bought you a drink not more than ten +minutes ago." + +"But you owed me that one." + +"Get out, you nerveless beef! Under the old law for debt I could put +you in prison for life." + +"Oh, no." + +"Do you really need a drink, Mr. Flummers?" McGlenn asked. + +"Yes." + +"And you don't think that there is any mistake about it?" + +"No." + +"Well, then, as one who has been compelled to love you, I will buy you +a drink." + +"Good stuff. Say, Whit, touch the bell over there, will you?" + +"Touch it yourself, you lout!" + +With a profane avowal that he had never struck so lazy a party, +Flummers rang the bell, and when the boy appeared, he called with +hearty hospitality: "See what the gentlemen will have." + +"Would you like something more?" Henry asked of Flummers, when the +drinks had been served. + +"Oh, I've just had one. But wait a minute. Say, boy, bring me a +cigar." + +When the cigar was brought, Flummers said, "That's the stuff!" and a +moment later he broke out with, "Say, Witherspoon, why don't you kill +the geyser that does the county building for your paper?" + +"Why so?" + +"Oh, he flashes his star and calls himself a journalist. What time is +it? I must hustle; can't stay here and throw away time on you fellows. +Say, John"-- + +Richmond shut him off with: "Don't call me John. A man--I'll say man +out of courtesy to your outward form--a man that hasn't sense enough +to lift a bass into a boat is not to be permitted such a familiarity. +Out in a boat with him last summer and caught a big bass," Richmond +explained to the company, "and brought it up to the side of the boat +and told Flummers to lift it in, not thinking at the time that he +hadn't sense enough, and he grabbed hold of the line and let the fish +get away. It made me sick, and I had a strong fight with myself to +keep from drowning him." + +Flummers tapped his forehead. "Papa's nut says, 'Keep your hand out of +a fish's mouth.' Oh, I don't want to go fishing with you again. No fun +for me to pull a boat and see a man thrash the water. Say, did I take +anything on you just now?" he suddenly broke off, addressing Henry. + +"Yes, but you can have something else." + +"Well, not now. I'll hold it in reserve. In this life it is well to +have reserve forces stationed here and there. Who's got a car-ticket? +I've got to go over on the West Side. What, are you all broke? What +sort of a poverty-stricken gang have I struck? Well, I've given you +as much of my valuable time as I can spare." + +"I suppose you are getting used to this town," said Mortimer, when +Flummers was gone. + +"Yes, I am gradually making myself feel at home," Henry answered. + +"You find the weather disagreeable, of course. We do, I know." + +"I think that Chicago is great in spite of its climate," said Henry. + +"If great at all, it is great in spite of a great many absences," +McGlenn replied; "and in these absences it is mean and contemptible. +To money it gives worship; to the song and dance man it pays admiring +attention, but to the writer it gives neglect--the campaign of +silence." + +Richmond put his hand to his month and threw his head back. "The +trouble with you, John"-- + +"There's no trouble with me." + +"Yes, there is, and it is the trouble that comes to all men who form +an estimate without having first taken the trouble to think." + +"Gentlemen," said McGlenn, "I wish to call your attention to that +remark. John Richmond advising people to think before they form their +estimates. John, you are the last man to think before you form an +estimate. Within a minute after you meet a man you are prepared to +give your estimate of his character; you'll give a half-hour's opinion +on a minute's acquaintance." + +"Some people can't form an opinion of a man after a year's +acquaintance with him, but I can. I go by a certain instinct, and when +the wrong sort of man rubs up against me I know it. I don't need to +wait until he has worked me before I find out that he is an impostor. +But, as I was going to say, the trouble with you is that you forget +the difference that exists between new and old cities. A new community +worships material things; and if it pays tribute to an idea, it must +be that idea which appeals quickest to the eye--to the commoner +senses. And in this Chicago is no worse than other raw cities. Fifty +years from now "-- + +"Who wants to live fifty years in this miserable world?" McGlenn broke +in. "There is but one community in which the writer is at ease, and +that is the community of death. It is populous; it is crowded with +writers, but it holds an easy place for every one. The silence of that +community frightens the rich but its democracy pleases the poor." + +"I suppose, then, that you want to die." + +"I do." + +"But you didn't want to die yesterday?" + +"Yes, it was the very time when I should have died--I had just eaten a +good dinner. You don't know how to eat, John. You stuff yourself, +John. Yes, you stuff yourself and think that you have dined. The +reason is that you have never taken the trouble to become civilized. +It's my misfortune to have friends who can't eat. But some of my +friends can eat, and they are therefore great men. Tod Cowles strikes +a new dish at a house on the North Side and softens his voice and +says, 'Ah hah.' He is a great man, for he knows that he has discovered +an additional pleasure to offset another trouble of this infamous +life; and Colonel Norton is a great man--he knows how to eat; but you, +John, are an outcast from the table, and therefore civilization cannot +reach you. Civilization comes to the feast and asks, 'Where is John +Richmond, whom I heard some of you say something about?' and we reply, +'He holds us in contempt,' and Civilization pronounces these solemn +words: 'He who holds ye in contempt, the same will I banish.'" + +"But," rejoined Richmond, "civilization teaches one of two things--to +think or to become a glutton. Somehow I was kept away from the feast +and had to accept the other teaching. I don't go about deifying my +stomach and making an apostle of the palate of my month. When I eat"-- + +"But you don't eat; you stuff. I have sat down to a table with you, +and after giving your order you would fill yourself so full of bread +and pickles or anything within reach that you couldn't eat anything +when the order was brought." + +"That was abstraction of thought instead of hunger," Richmond replied. + +"No, it was the presence of gluttony. Can you eat, Mr. Witherspoon?" + +"I fear that I must confess a lack of higher civilization. I am not +well schooled in anything, and I suppose that you must class me with +Richmond--as a barbarian. I lack"-- + +"Art," McGlenn suggested. "But for you there is a chance. John +Richmond is hopelessly gone." + +"I sometimes feed my dogs on stewed tripe," said Whittlesy, "and the +good that it does them teaches me that man is to be judged largely by +what he eats." + +"There is absolutely no use for all this bloody rot," Mortimer +declared. "Eating is essential, of course, but I don't see how men can +talk for an hour on the subject, and talk foolishly, at that." + +"If eating is essential," Richmond replied, "it is a wonder that you +don't kick against it." + +"Ah, but isn't it a good thing that I don't kick against +non-essentials? Wouldn't I be obliged to kick against this assemblage +and its beastly rot?" + +Mortimer sometimes emphasized his walk with a peculiar springiness of +step, and with this emphasis he walked off, biting the stem of his +pipe. + +"I thought that by this time you would begin to show a weariness of +the Press Club," McGlenn said to Henry. + +"I don't see why you should have thought that. I said at first that I +was one of you." + +"Yes, but I didn't know but by this time you might have discovered +your mistake." + +"I made no mistake, and therefore could discover none. Let me tell you +that between George Witherspoon's class and me there is but little +affinity. You may call me a crank, and perhaps I am, but I was poor so +long that I felt a sort of pride in the fight I was compelled to make. +Poverty has its arrogance, and foppery is sometimes found in rags. I +don't mind telling you that I have been strongly urged to take what is +called my place in the world; but that place is so distasteful to me +that I look on it with a shudder. I despise barter--I am compelled to +buy, but I am not forced to sell. I am not a sentimentalist--if I were +I should attempt to write poetry. I am not a philosopher--if I were I +shouldn't attempt to run a newspaper. I am simply an ordinary man who +has passed through an extraordinary school. And what I think are +virtues may be errors." + +McGlenn replied: "John is your friend. John thinks that you are a +strong man--I don't know yet, but I do know that you please me when +you are silent and that you don't displease me when you talk. You are +strong enough to say, 'I don't know,' and a confession of ignorance is +a step toward wisdom. Ask John a question to-day and he may say, 'I +don't know,' but to-morrow he does know--he has spent a night with it. +You are a remarkable man, Mr. Witherspoon," he added after a moment's +reflection, "a very remarkable man. Your life up to a short time ago, +you say, was a struggle; your uncle was a poor man. Suddenly you +became the son of a millionaire. A weak nature would straightway have +assumed the airs of a rich man; you remained a democrat. It was so +remarkable that I thought the decision might react as an error, and +therefore I asked if you had not begun to grow weary of this +democracy, the Press Club." + +McGlenn smiled, and his smile had two meanings, one for his friends +and another for his enemies. His friends saw a thoughtful countenance +illumined by an intellectual light; his enemies recognized a sarcasm +that had escaped from a sly and revengeful spirit. But Henry was his +friend. + +"John," said Richmond, "you think"-- + +McGlenn turned out his thumb and began to motion with his fist. "I +won't submit to the narrow dictum of a man who presumes to tell me +what I think." + +"But if nobody were to tell you, how would you find out what you +think? Oh," he added, "I admit that it was presumption on my part. I +was presuming that you think." + +"I do think, and if some one must tell me _what_ I think, let him be a +thinking man." + +"John, you cry out for thought, and are the first to strike at it +with your dogmatism. You don't think--you dogmatize." + +McGlenn turned to Henry. "I had two delightful days last week. John +Richmond was out of town." + +"Yes," said Richmond, putting his feet on a chair. "Falsehood gallops +in riotous pleasure when Truth is absent. Hold on! I can stand one +wrinkle between your eyes, but I am afraid of two." + +"A man of many accomplishments, but wholly lacking in humor," said +McGlenn, seeming to study Richmond for the purpose of placing an +appraisement on him. "A man who worships Ouida and decries Sir Richard +Steele." + +"No, I don't worship Ouida, but I read her sometimes because she is +interesting. As for Steele, he is decried by your praise. Say, John, +you advised me to change grocers every month, and I don't know but it +would be a good plan. An old fellow that I have been trading with has +sent me a bill for eighty-three dollars." + +"John, he probably takes you for a great man and wants to compliment +you." + +"I don't object to a compliment, but that was flattery," Richmond, +replied, taking his feet off one chair and putting them on another. +"Let's ride home, John; it's 'most too slippery to walk." + +"All right. You have ruined my health already by making me walk with +you. Come on; we'll go now." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +AN OLD MAN WOULD INVEST. + + +When Henry went home to dinner he found, already seated at the table, +old man Colton, Mrs. Colton and Mrs. Brooks. The old Marylander got +away from his soup, got off his chair, and greeted Henry with an +effusive display of what might have been his pleasure at seeing the +young man, but which had more of the appearance of a palavering +pretense. He bowed, ducked his head first on one side and then on the +other--and his colored handkerchief dangled at his coat-tails. He +found his tongue, which at first he seemed to have lost, and with his +bald head bobbing about, he appeared as an aged child, prattling at +random. + +"Hah, hah, delighted to see you again, my dear young man. Didn't know +that I was coming when you were so kind as to take lunch with me +to-day; ladies came in the afternoon; Brooks couldn't come with me, +but he will be here later on. Hah, hah, they are taking excellent care +of us, you see. Ah, you sit here by me? Glad." + +Mrs. Colton was exceedingly feeble, and her daughter appeared as a +very old-fashioned girl in a stylish habit--an old daguerreotype sort +of face, smooth, shiny and expressionless. + +"We have all been talking about you," Colton said, as Henry sat down. +"Your mother and sister think you a very wonderful man, and my dear +friend Witherspoon"-- + +"Brother Colton is from Maryland," Witherspoon remarked. + +Colton laughed and ducked his head. Ah, the listless wit of the rich! +It may be pointless, but how laughable is the millionaire's joke. + +"But, my dear young man, we are determined to have you with us," +Colton declared, when he had recovered himself. He nodded at +Witherspoon. + +"We are going to try," the great merchant replied. "By the way, I told +Brooks that we'd have to press Bradley & Adams, of Atchison, Kansas. +They are altogether too slow--there's no excuse for it." + +"None in the world; none whatever," Colton agreed. He more than +agreed, for there was alarm in his voice, and the alarm of an old +miser is pitiable. "Gracious alive, can they expect people to wait +always? Dear, what can the world be coming to when we are all to be +cheated out of our rights? We'll have the law on them." + +Money professes great love for the law, and not without cause. The +rich man thinks that the law is his; and the poor man says, "It was +not made for me." + +Among the ladies Henry was the subject of a subdued discussion, and +occasionally he heard Mrs. Colton say: "Such a comfort to you, and +after so many years of separation. So manly." And then Mrs. Brooks +would say: "Yes, indeed." + +Henry noticed that Colton was not accompanied with his mutton-broth +economy. It was evident that the old man was frugal only to his own +advantage, and that his heartiness came at the expense of other men. + +Brooks arrived soon after dinner. The women went to the drawing-room +to talk about Henry, and to exchange harmless hypocrisies, and the men +betook themselves to the library to smoke and to discuss plots that +are known as enterprises. Country merchants were taken up, turned +over, examined and put down ruined. Brooks was as keen and as ardent +as a prosecuting attorney. Every man who owed a bill was under +indictment. + +"You see," he said to Henry, "we have to hold these fellows tight or +they would get loose and smash us." + +"You needn't apologize to me," Henry replied. + +"Of course not, but as you say that you don't understand business, I +merely wanted to show you to what extent we are driven." + +"Oh, I assure you that it is awfully unpleasant," said Colton, "but we +have to do it. And let me tell you, my dear young man, there is more +crime than you imagine in the neglect of these fellows. In this +blessed country there is hardly any excuse for a man's failure to meet +his obligations. The trouble is that people who can't afford it live +too high. Let them economize; let them be sensible. Why, I could have +gone broke forty-odd years ago; hah, I could go broke now. Oh, I know +that we are all accused of being hard, but you have no idea what the +wealthy people of this city do for the poor. Just look at the charity +balls; look at our annual showing, and you'll find it remarkable." + +Henry felt that the charity of the rich was largely a species of +"bluff" that they make at one another. It was not real charity; it was +an advertisement--it was business. + +"My dear friend Witherspoon," said Colton, mouthing his cigar--he did +not smoke at home--"I am going to branch out more. I'm going to make +investments. I see that it is safe, and I want you to help me." + +"All right; how much do you want to invest?" + +"Oh, I can place my hand on a little money--just a little. I've got +some in stocks, but I've got a little by me." + +"How much?" + +This frightened him. "Oh, I don't know; really, I can't tell. But I +think that I've got a little that I'd like to invest. But I'll talk to +you about it to-morrow." + +"All right." + +"I think real estate would be about the right thing. I could soon turn +it over, you know. Some wonderfully fortunate investments have been +made that way. But I'll talk to you about it to-morrow." + +Brooke said that he was in something of a hurry to get home, and the +visitors took their leave early in the evening. Witherspoon returned +to the library after going to the door with Colton. He sat down, +stretched forth his feet, meditated for a few moments, and said: "The +bark on a beech tree was never any closer than that old man, and yet +he is kind-hearted." + +"When kindness doesn't cost anything, I suppose," Henry suggested. + +"Yes, that's true. He spoke of the wonderful showing of the charities +of this city as though he were a prime mover in them, when, in fact, I +don't think he ever contributed more than a barrel of flour in any one +year. But he is a good business man, and if there were more like him +there would be fewer bankrupts." + +Ellen appeared at the door. "Henry, mother and I are going to your +room to pay you a call." + +"All right, I'll go up with you. Won't you come, father?" + +"No, I believe not. Think I'll read a while and go to bed." + +Henry's room was bright with a gladsome fire. On the table had been +set a vase of moss roses, and beside the vase lay an old black pipe, +tied with a blue ribbon. The young man laughed, and the girl said: + +"Mother's doings. Ugh! the nasty thing!" + +"If my son smoked a pipe when he was in exile," Mrs. Witherspoon +replied, "he can do so now. None of the privileges of a strange land +shall be denied him in his own home." + +She sat in an easy-chair and was slowly rocking. To man a +rocking-chair is a remembrancer of a mother's affection. + +"Light your pipe, my son." + +"No, not now, mother." + +Ellen sat on an arm of Henry's chair. "Your hair would curl if you +were to encourage it," she remarked. + +"Has anybody said anything about curly hair?" he asked. + +"No, but I was just thinking that yours might curl." + +"Do you want me to look like Brooks?" + +She frowned. "He kinks his with a hot poker. I don't like pretty men." + +"How about handsome men?" + +"Oh, I have to like them. You are a handsome man, you know." + +"Nonsense," he replied. + +"Your grandmother was a very handsome woman," said Mrs. Witherspoon. +"She had jet-black hair, and her teeth were like pearls. Ellen, what +did Mr. Coglin say when you gave him the slippers?" Mr. Coglin was a +clergyman. + +"Oh, he thanked me, of course. He couldn't very well have said, 'Take +them away.'" + +"But did you tell him that you embroidered them with your own hands?" + +"Yes, I told him." + +"Then what did he say?" + +"He pretended to be greatly surprised, and said something, but I have +forgotten what it was. Mrs. Brooks is awful tiresome with her 'Yes, +indeed,' isn't she? Seems to me that I'd learn something else." + +"She's hardly so tiresome with her 'Yes, indeed,' as her father is +with his 'Hah, hah, my dear Mr. Witherspoon,'" Henry replied. + +"But he is a very old man, my son," said Mrs. Witherspoon, "and you +must excuse him. I have heard that he was quite aristocratic before +the war." + +"Oh, he never was aristocratic," Ellen declared. "Aristocracy hampered +by extreme stinginess would cut but a poor figure, I should think." + +"Have we set up a grill here?" Henry asked. + +Mrs. Witherspoon nodded at Ellen as if to emphasize the rebuke, and +the young woman exclaimed: "Oh, I'm singled out, am I? Who said that +the old man's 'hah, hah,' was tiresome? You'd better nod at your son, +mother." + +But she gave her son never a nod. In her sight he surely could commit +no indiscretion. A moment later the mother asked: + +"Have they talked to you again about going into the store?" + +"Oh, they hint at it occasionally." + +"Ellen, can't you find a chair? I know your brother must he tired." +Ellen got off the arm of Henry's chair, and soon afterward Mrs. +Witherspoon took the vacated place. The young woman laughed, but said +nothing. The mother fondly touched Henry's hair and smoothed it back +from his forehead. "Don't you let them worry you, my son. They can't +help but respect your manliness. Indeed," she added, growing strangely +bold for one so gentle, "must a man be a merchant whether he will or +not? And whenever you want to write about poor women, you do it. They +are mistreated; they are made wretched, and by just such men as +Brooks, too. What does he care for a woman's misery? And your father's +so blind that he doesn't see it. But I see it. And I oughtn't to say +it, but I will--he has the impudence to tell your father that I give +too much money to the poor. It's none of his business, I'm sure." + +There was a peculiar softness in Henry's voice when he replied: "I +hope some time to catch him interfering with your affairs." + +"Oh, but you mustn't say a word, my son--not a word; and I don't want +your father to know that I have said anything." + +"He shall not know, but I hope some time to catch Brooks interfering +with your affairs. He has meddled with mine, but I can forgive that." + +Henry walked up and down the room when Mrs. Witherspoon and Ellen were +gone. With a mother's love, that gentle woman had found a mother's +place in his heart. He looked at the rocking-chair. Suddenly he seized +hold of the mantelpiece to steady himself. He had caught himself +seriously wondering if she had rocked him years ago. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE INVESTMENT. + + +It seemed to Henry that he had just dozed off to sleep when he was +startled by a loud knock at the door. + +"Henry, Henry!" It was Witherspoon's voice. + +"Yes." + +"Get up, quick! Old man Colton is murdered." + +When he went down-stairs he found the household in confusion. Every +one on the place had been aroused. The servants were whispering in the +hall. Witherspoon was waiting for him. + +"A messenger has just brought the news. Come, we must go over there. +The carriage is waiting." + +It was two o'clock. A fierce and cutting wind swept across the +lake--the icy breath of a dying year. Not a word was spoken as the +carriage sped along. At the door of Colton's home Witherspoon and +Henry were confronted by a policeman. + +"My orders are to let no one in," said the officer. + +"I am George Witherspoon." + +The policeman stepped aside. Brooks met them in the hall. He said +nothing, but took Witherspoon's hand. The place was thronged with +police officers and reporters. + +Adjoining Colton's sleeping-apartment, on the second floor, was a +small room with a window looking out on the back yard, and with one +door opening from the hall. In this room, let partly into the wall, +was an iron safe in which the old man kept "the little money" that he +had decided to invest in real estate. The window was protected by +upright iron bars. At night, a gas-jet, turned low, threw dismal +shadows about the room, and it was the old man's habit to light the +gas at bed-time and to turn it off the first thing at morning. He had +lighted the gas shortly after returning from Witherspoon's house and +had gone to bed, and it must have been about one o'clock when the +household was startled by the report of a pistol. Brooks and his wife, +whose room was on the same floor, ran into the old man's room. The +place was dark, but a bright light burned in the vault-room. Into this +room they ran, and there, lying on the floor, with money scattered +about him, was the old man, bloody and dead, with a bullet-hole in his +breast. But where was Mrs. Colton? They hastened back to her room and +struck a light. The old woman lay across the bed, unable to +move--paralyzed. + +The first discovery made by the police was that the iron bars at the +window, four in number, had been sawed in two; and then followed +another discovery of a more singular nature. In the window, caught by +the sudden fall of the sash, was a black frock coat. In one of the +tail pockets was a briar-root pipe. The sash had fallen while the +murderer was getting out, and, pulled against the sash, the pipe held +the garment fast. One sleeve was torn nearly off. In a side pocket was +found a letter addressed to Dave Kittymunks, general delivery, +Chicago, and post-marked Milwaukee. Under the window a ladder was +found. + +At the coroner's inquest, held the next day, one of the servants +testified that three days before, while the old man and Brooks were at +the store and while the ladies were out, a man with black whiskers, +and who wore a black coat, had called at the house and said that he +had been sent to search for sewer-gas. He had an order presumably +signed by Mr. Colton, and was accordingly shown through the house. He +had insisted upon going into the vault-room, declaring that he had +located the gas there, but was told that the room was always kept +locked. He then went away. The servant had not thought to tell Mr. +Colton. + +A general delivery clerk at the post-office testified that the letter +addressed to Dave Kittymunks had passed through his hands. The oddness +of the name had fastened it on his memory. He did not think that he +could identify the man who had received the letter, but he recalled +the black whiskers. The letter was apparently written by a woman, and +was signed "Lil." It was an urgent appeal for money. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +ARRESTED EVERYWHERE. + + +"Who is Dave Kittymunks?" was a question asked by the newspapers +throughout the country. Not the slightest trace of him could be found, +nor could "Lil" be discovered with any degree of certainty. But one +morning the public was fed to an increase of appetite by an article +that appeared in a Chicago newspaper. "Kittymunks came to Chicago +about five months ago," said the writer, "and for a time went under +the name of John Pruett. Fierce in his manner, threatening in his +talk, wearing a scowl, frowning at prattling children and muttering at +honest men, he repelled every one. Dissatisfied with his lot in life, +he refused, even for commensurate compensation, to perform that honest +labor which is the province of every true man, and like a hyena, he +prowled about growling at himself and despising fate. The writer met +him on several occasions and held out inducements that might lead to +conversation, but was persistently repulsed by him. He frowned upon +society, and set the grinding heel of his disapproval on every attempt +to draw him out. Was there some dark mystery connected with his life? +This question the writer asked himself. He execrated humanity; and, +moody and alone, the writer has seen him sitting on a bench on the +lake front, turning with a sullen look and viewing with suppressed +rage the architectural grandeur towering at his back." + +The article was written by Mr. Flummers. As the only reporter who +could write from contact with the murderer, his sentences were bloated +into strong significance. Fame reached down and snatched him up, and +the blue light of his flambeau played about him. + +"Pessimist as he is"--Flummers was holding forth among the night +reporters at the central station--"Pessimist as he is, and a skeptic +though he may be, papa goes through this life with his eyes open. Idle +suggestion says, 'Shut your eyes, papa, and be happy,' but shrewdness +says, 'Watch that fellow going along there.' I don't claim any +particular credit for this; we are not to be vain of what nature has +done for us, nor censured for what she has denied. We are all +children, toddling about as an experiment, and wondering what we are +going to be. Some of us fall and weep over our bruises, and some of +us--some of us get there. He, he, he." + +"Flummers, have they raised your salary yet?" some one asked. + +"Oh, no, and that's why I am disgusted with the newspaper profession. +The country cries out, 'Who is the man?' There is a deep silence. The +country cries again, 'Does any one know this man?' And then papa +speaks. But what does he get? The razzle. A great scoop rewarded with +a razzle. My achievements are taken too much us a matter of course. I +don't assert myself enough. I am too modest. Say, I smell liquor. +Who's got a bottle? Somebody took a cork out of a bottle. Who was it? +Say, Will, have you got a bottle?" + +"Thought you said that your doctor told you not to drink." + +"He did; he said that I had intercostal rheumatism. He examined me +carefully, and when I asked him what he thought, he replied, 'Mr. +Flummers, you can't afford to drink.'" + +"And did you tell him that you could afford it--that it didn't cost +you anything?" + +"Oh, ho, ho, no! Say, send out and get a bottle. What are you fellows +playing there? Ten cents ante, all jack pots? It's a robbers' game." + + * * * * * + +In every community a stranger wearing black whiskers was under +suspicion. A detective shrewdly suggested that the murderer might have +shaved, and he claimed great credit for this timely hint; but no +matter, the search for the black-whiskered man was continued. Dave +Kittymunks was arrested in all parts of the country, and the head-line +writer, whose humor could not long be held in subjection, began to +express himself thus: "Dave Kittymunks captured in St. Paul, also +seized in New Orleans, and is hotly pursued in the neighborhood of +Kansas City." + +Witherspoon, sitting by his library fire at night, would say over and +over again: "I told him never to keep any money in the house. He was +so close, so suspicious; and then to put his money in a safe that a +boy might have knocked to pieces!" And it became Mrs. Witherspoon's +habit to declare: "I just know that somebody will break into our house +next." Then the merchant's impatience would express itself with a +grunt. "Oh, it has given you and Ellen a rare chance for speculation. +We'd better wall ourselves in a cave and die there waiting for robbers +to drill their way in. It does seem to me that they ought to catch +that fellow, I told Brooks that he'd better increase the reward to +fifty thousand." + +Witherspoon and Brooks called at Henry's office. "You may publish the +fact that I have offered fifty thousand dollars reward for +Kittymunks," said Brooks, speaking to Henry, but looking into the room +where Miss Drury was at work. + +"That ought to be a great stimulus," Henry replied, "but it doesn't +appear to me that there has been any lack of effort." + +"No," said Witherspoon; "but the prospect of fifty thousand dollars +will make a strong effort stronger." + +"By the way," Henry remarked, "this is the first time you have visited +me in my work-room." + +Witherspoon replied: "Yes, that's so; and it strikes me that you might +get more comfortable quarters." + +"Comfortable enough for a workshop," Henry rejoined. + +"Yes, I presume so. Are you ready, Brooks?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"We have just come from police headquarters," said Witherspoon, "and +thought that we would stop and tell you of the increased reward. You +were late at dinner yesterday. Will you be on time this evening?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +When they were gone, Henry went into Miss Drury's room. "Was that your +father?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"And he scolded you for being late yesterday. If he had suspected that +I was the cause, I suppose he would have come in and stormed at me." + +"You were not the cause." + +"Yes, you were helping me with my work." + +"It was my work, too." He tilted a pile of newspapers off a chair, +sat down and said: "I feel at home with you." + +"Oh, am I so homely?" she asked, smiling. + +"Yes, restoring the word to its best meaning. By the way, you haven't +cut off your hair." + +"No, I forgot it, but I'm going to." + +"My sister Ellen has hair something like yours, but not so heavy and +not so bright." + +"I should like to see her." + +"Because she has hair like yours?" + +"What a question! No, because I am acquainted with her brother, of +course." + +"And when you become acquainted with a man do you want to meet his +sister?" + +"Oh, you are getting to be a regular tease, Mr. Witherspoon. After +awhile I shall be afraid to talk to you." + +"I hope the clock will refuse to record that time. You say that you +would like to see my sister. You shall see her; you must come home to +dinner with me." + +She gave him a quick look, a mere glance, the shortest sentence within +the range of human expression, but in that short sentence a full book +of meaning. One moment she was nothing but a resentment; but when she +looked up again the light in her eyes had been softened by that +half-sarcastic pity which a well-bred woman feels for the ignorance of +man. + +"Your sister has not called on me," she said. + +He replied: "I beg your pardon for overlooking the ceremonious +flirtation which women insist shall be indulged in, for I assure you +that their ways are sometimes a mystery to me; but I admit that the +commonest sort of sense should have kept me from falling into this +error. My sister shall call on you." + +"Pardon me, but she must not." + +"And may I ask why not?" + +"My aunt lives in a flat," she answered. + +"Suppose she does? What difference can that make?" + +"It makes this difference: Your sister couldn't conceal the air of a +patron, and I couldn't hide my resentment; therefore," she added with +a smile that brought back all her brightness, "to be friends we must +remain strangers." + +"But suppose I should call on you; would you regard it as a +patronage?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"Because you are a man." + +"You women are peculiar creatures." + +"An old idea always patly expressed," she replied. + +"But isn't it true?" + +"It must be, or it wouldn't have lived so long," she answered. + +"A pleasing sentiment," he replied, "but old age is not a mark of +truth, for nothing is grayer than falsehood." + +"But it finally dies, and truth lives on," she rejoined. + +"No, it is often buried." + +"So is a mummy buried, but it is brought to light again." + +"Yes, but it doesn't live; it is simply a mummy." + +"Oh, well," she said, "I know that you are wrong, but I won't worry +with it." + +John Richmond opened the door of Henry's room. "Come in," Henry +called, advancing to meet him. "How are you? And now that you are +here, make yourself at home." + +"All right," Richmond replied, sitting down, reaching out with his +foot and drawing a spittoon toward him. "How is everything running?" + +"First-rate." + +"You are getting out a good paper. I have just heard that the reward +for Kittymunks has been increased." + +"Yes, it was increased not more than an hour ago." + +"Who is to pay it?" + +"The State, you know, has offered a small reward; the Colossus Company +is to pay twenty thousand dollars, and the remainder will be paid by +the Colton estate." + +"Who constitutes the Colton estate?" + +"Brooks, mainly." + +Richmond put his hand to his mouth. "That's what I thought," said he. +"Do you know Brooks very well?" he asked after a short silence. + +"Not very." + +"What do you think of him?" + +"I despise him." + +"I thought so. As the French say, whom does it benefit?" + +They looked at each other, but said nothing. There could be no mistake +as to who was benefited. After a time Henry remarked: "I see that +Flummers has gone to Omaha to identify a suspect." + +"He did go, but I heard some of the boys say that he returned this +morning. Is your work all done for to-day?" + +"Yes, about all." + +"Suppose we go over to the club." + +"All right. Wait a moment." + +Henry stepped into Miss Drury's room. "You must; forgive me," he said, +in a low tone. + +"What for?" she asked, in surprise. + +"For so rudely inviting you to dinner when my sister had not even +called on you." + +"Oh, that's nothing," she replied, laughing. "Such mistakes are common +enough with men, I should think." + +"Not with sensible men. What have you here?" + +"Oh, some stupid paragraphs about women." + +"They'll keep till to-morrow." + +"But Mr. Mitchell said he wanted them to-day." + +"Tell him if he calls for them that I want them to-morrow. You'd +better go home and rest." + +"Rest? Why, I haven't done anything to make me tired." + +"Well, you don't know how soon you may be tired, and you'd better take +your rest in advance. All right, John," he said in a louder tone, "I'm +with you." + +When they entered the office of the Press Club, a forensic voice, +followed by laughter, bore to them the intelligence that Mr. Flummers +was in the front room, declaiming his recent adventures. They found +the orator measuredly stepping the short distance between this round +table and the post on which was fixed the button of the electric bell. +Led by fondness to believe that some one, moved to generosity, might +ask him to ring for the drinks, he showed a disposition to loiter +whenever he reached the post, and the light of eager expectancy and +the shadow of sore disappointment played a trick pantomime on his +countenance. + +"Oh, ho, ho, here come two of my staff. John, I have been talking for +an hour, and the bell is rusting from disuse." + +"Why don't you ring it on your own account?" + +"Oh, no; you can't expect one man to do everything." + +"Go on with your story." + +"But is there anything in it?" + +"If you mean your story, I don't think there's much in it." + +"If you cut it short enough," said Mortimer, "we'll all contribute." + +"There spoke a disgruntled Englishman," Flummers exclaimed. "Having no +humor himself, he scowls on the--the"--He scalloped the air, but it +failed to bring the right word. "Jim, you'd better confine yourself to +the writing of encyclopedias and not meddle with the buzz-saw of--of +sharp retort." + +"He appears to have made it that time," said Whittlesy. + +"Now, Whit, it may behoove some men to speak, but it doesn't behoove +you. Remember that I hold you in the hollow of my hand." + +"Let us have the story," said Henry. + +"But is the laborer worthy of his hire--is there anything in it?" + +"Yes, ring the bell." + +"That's the stuff." + +"Flummers," some one remarked, a few moments later, "I don't think +that I ever saw you drunk." + +Flummers tapped his forehead and replied: "The brain predominates the +jag. But I must gather up the flapping ends of my discourse. I will +begin again." + +"Are you going to repeat that dose of bloody rot?" Mortimer asked. + +"Jim, I pity you. I pity any man that can't see a point when it's held +under his nose." + +"Or smell one when it's held under his eye," someone suggested. + +"You fellows are pretty gay," said Flummers. "You must have drawn your +princely stipends this week." He hesitated a moment, pressed his hand +to his forehead, cut a fish-hook in the air and resumed his recital: + +"When I reached Omaha it was snowing. The heavens wore a feathery +frown." + +"He didn't fill," said Whittlesy. + +Flummers condemned him with a look and continued: "The wind whetted +itself to keenness on a bleak knob and came down to shave its unhappy +customers." + +"He made his flush," said Whittlesy. + +Flummers did not look at him. "I went immediately to the jail, where +one of the rank and file of the Kittymunkses was confined; and say, +you ought to have seen the poor, miserable, bug-bitten wretch they +stood up in front of me. He wore about a half-pint of dirty whiskers, +and in his make-up he reminded me of a scare-crow that brother and I +once made to put out on the farm in Wisconsin. I have seen a number of +Kittymunkses, but he was the worst. I said, 'Say, why don't you wash +yourself?' and the horrible suggestion made him shudder. 'Is this the +man?' the sheriff asked. 'Gentlemen,' I replied, disdaining the +sheriff, 'on the first train that pulls out I am going back to +Chicago; and whenever you catch another baboon that has worn himself +threadbare by sitting around your village, telegraph me and I will +come and tell you to turn him loose.' 'Then he is not the man?' said +the sheriff, giving me a look that told of deep official +disappointment. 'Gentlemen,' I replied, still disdaining the sheriff, +'I never saw this poor wretch before. Tra la.' I met one gentleman in +the town. I think he belonged to the sporting fraternity. He said, +'Will you have something?' and we went into a place kept by a retired +prize-fighter. My friend pointed to a noisy party at the rear end of +the room, and said: 'The city authorities.' 'Should they live?' I +asked, and my friend said, 'They should not.' And then papa was in +town. 'Make me a sufficient inducement,' said I, 'and I will take a +position on one of your newspapers and kill them off. One of my +specialties is the killing of city authorities. Nature has intended +them for my meat. I have killed mayors in nearly every place that is +worthy of the name of municipality; and between the ordinary city +official and papa,' I added, 'there is about as much affinity as there +is between a case of hydrophobia and a limpid trout stream trickling +its way through the woods of my native Wisconsin.' Say, do you know +what he did? He eyed me suspiciously and edged off toward the door. +Oh, it is painful to stand by helplessly and see fate constantly +casting my lot among jays." + +"Mr. Flummers, do you think that you would recognize Kittymunks if you +were to see him?" Henry asked. + +"Sure thing. Papa's friends may deceive him, but his eyes, backed by +his judgment, never do. Say, I'm getting up a great scheme, and pretty +soon I'm going to travel through the country with it. I'm going to +organize an investment company for country merchants. I've already got +about fifteen thousand dollars' worth of stock ready to issue. Has +everybody been to lunch? I have been so busy that I haven't eaten +anything since early this morning. Joe, lend me fifty cents." + +"And take a mortgage on your investment company?" + +"Oh, ho, ho, that's a good thing. The other day one of your so-called +literary men said that he would give me two dollars an hour to write +for him from dictation. 'Ha, I've struck a soft thing,' thinks I, and +I goes to his den with him. Well, when I had worked about half an +hour, taking down his guff, he turns to me and says, 'Say, lend me a +dollar.' 'I haven't got but forty cents,' I replied. But he didn't +weaken. 'Well, let me have that,' says he. 'You've got job and I +haven't, you know.' And he robbed me. I've got to go out now and see a +business jay from Peoria. With my newspaper work and my side +speculations I'm kept pretty busy. Joe, where's that fifty?" + +"Gave it to you a moment ago." + +"All right. Say, will you fellows be here when I come back?" + +"Not if we can get out," Whittlesy replied. + +"Oh, you've bobbed up again, have you? But remember that papa holds +you in the hollow of his hand." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +CRIED A SENSATION. + + +In Chicago was a sheet--it could not be called a newspaper and +assuredly was not a publication--that was rarely seen until late at +night, and which always appeared to have been smuggled across the +border-line of darkness into the light of the street lamps. Ragged +boys, carrying this sheet, hung about the theaters and cried a +sensation when the play was done. Their aim was to catch strangers, +and to turn fiercely upon their importunity was not so effective as +simply to say, "I live here." + +One night, as Henry and Ellen came out of a theater, they heard these +ragged boys shouting the names of Witherspoon and Brooks. + +"Gracious," said Ellen, with sudden weight on Henry's arm, "what does +that mean?" + +"It's nothing but a fake," he answered. + +"But get a paper and see; won't you?" + +"Yes, as soon as I can." + +They were so crowd-pressed that it was some time before they could +reach one of the boys; and when they did, Ellen snatched a paper and +attempted to read it by the light of the carriage lamp. + +"Wait until we get home," he said. "I tell you it amounts to nothing." + +"No, we will go to a restaurant," she replied. + +The sensation was a half column of frightening head on a few inches of +smeared body. It declared that recent developments pointed to the fact +that Witherspoon and Brooks knew more concerning the whereabouts of +Dave Kittymunks than either of them cared to tell. It was known that +old Colton's extreme conservatism had been regarded as an obstruction, +and that while they might not actually have figured in the murder, yet +they were known to be pleased at the result, that the large reward was +all a "bluff," and that it was to their interest to aid the escape of +Kittymunks. + +Before breakfast the next morning Brooks was at Witherspoon's house. A +"friend" had called his attention to the article. Had it appeared in +one of the reputable journals instead of in this fly-by-night smircher +of the characters of men, a suit for criminal libel would have been +brought, but to give countenance to this slander was to circulate it; +and therefore the two men were resolved not to permit the infamy to +place them under the contribution of a moment's worry. + +"The character of a successful man is a target to be shot at by the +envious," said Witherspoon. He was pacing the room, and anger had +hardened his step. "A target to be shot at," he repeated, "and the +shots are free." + +"I didn't know what to do," Brooks replied. He stood on the hearth-rug +with his hands behind him. "I was so worried that I couldn't sleep +after I saw the thing late last night; and my wife was crying when I +left home." + +"Infamous scoundrels!" Witherspoon muttered. + +"I didn't think anything could be done," Brooke continued, "but I +thought it best to see you at once." + +"Of course," said Witherspoon. + +"But, after all, don't you think we ought to have those wretches +locked up?" Brooke asked. + +"Yes," Witherspoon answered, "and we ought to have them hanged, but we +might as well set out to look for Kittymunks. Ten chances to one they +are not here at all; the thing might have been printed in a town three +hundred miles from here." + +"Yes, that's so," Brooks admitted; and addressing Henry, who stood at +a window, gazing out, he added: "What do you think about it?" + +Henry did not heed the question, so forgetfully was he gazing, and +Brooks repeated it. + +"If you have decided not to worry," Henry answered, "it is better not +to trouble yourselves at all. I doubt whether you could ever find the +publishers of the paper." + +"You are right," Brooks agreed. + +"Character used to be regarded as something at least half way sacred," +said Witherspoon, "but now, like an old plug hat, it is kicked about +the streets. And yet we boast of our freedom. Freedom, indeed! So +would it be freedom to sit at a window and shoot men as they pass. I +swear to God that I never had as much trouble and worry as I've had +lately. _Everything_ goes wrong. What about Jordway & Co., of Aurora?" + +"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Brooks answered. "Jordway has killed +himself, and the affairs of the firm are in a hopeless tangle." + +"Of coarse," Witherspoon replied, "and we'll never get a cent." + +"I'm afraid not, sir. I cautioned you against them, you remember." + +"Never saw anything like it," Witherspoon declared, not recalling the +caution that Brooks had advised, or not caring to acknowledge it. + +"Oh, everything may come out all right. Pardon me, Mr. Witherspoon, +but I think you need rest" + +"There is no rest," Witherspoon replied. + +"And yet," said Henry, turning from the window, "you took me to task +for saying that I sometimes felt there was nothing in the entire +scheme of life." + +"For saying it at your age, yes. You have but just begun to try life +and have no right to condemn it." + +"I didn't condemn it without a hearing. Isn't there something wrong +when the poor are wretched and the rich are miserable?" + +"Nonsense," said Witherspoon. + +"Oh, but that's no argument." + +"Isn't it? Well, then there shall be none." + +"I must be getting back," said Brooks. + +"Won't you stay to breakfast?" Witherspoon asked. "It will be ready in +a few minutes. Hum"--looking at his watch--"ought to have been ready +long ago. Everything goes wrong. Can't even get anything to eat. I'll +swear I never saw the like." + +"I'm much obliged, but I can't stay," Brooks answered. + +"Well, I suppose I shall be down to the store some time to-day. If +anybody calls to see me, just say that I am at home, standing round +begging for something to eat. Good morning." + +Henry laughed, and the merchant gave him a strained look. For a moment +the millionaire bore a striking likeness to old Andrew, at the time +when he declared that the devil had gone wrong. The young man sought +to soothe him when Brooks was gone; he apologized for laughing; he +said that he keenly felt that there was cause for worry, but that the +picture of a Chicago merchant standing about at home begging for his +breakfast, while important business awaited him at the store, was +enough to crack the thickest crust of solemnity. The merchant's +dignity was soon brought back; never was it far beyond his reach. At +breakfast he was severe with silence. + +Over and over again during the day Henry repeated Richmond's words, +"Whom does it benefit" and these words went to bed with him, and as +though restless, they turned and tossed themselves upon his mind +throughout the night, and like children, they clamored to be taken up +at early morning, to be dressed in the many colors of supposition. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +A HELPLESS OLD WOMAN. + + +In Kansas City was arrested a suspicious-looking man, who, upon being +taken to jail, confessed that his name was Dare Kittymunks and owned +that he had killed old man Colton. Thus was ended the search for the +murderer, the newspapers said, and the vigilance of the Kansas City +police was praised. But it soon transpired that the prisoner had been +a street preacher in Topeka at the time when the murder was committed, +that he had on that day created a sensation by announcing himself John +the Baptist and swearing that all other Johns the Baptist were base +impostors. The fellow was taken to an asylum for the insane, and the +search for Dave Kittymunks was resumed. + +Old Mrs. Colton had not moved a muscle since the night of the murder. +She lay looking straight at the ceiling, and in her eyes was an +expression that seemed constantly to repeat, "My body is dead, but my +mind is alive." Once every week the pastor of her church came to see +her. He was an old man, threatened with palsy, and had long ago ceased +to find pleasure in the appetites and vanities of this life. He came +on Sunday, just before the time for evening services in the church, +and kneeling at the old woman's chair, which he placed near her +bedside, lifted his shaking voice in prayer. It was a touching sight, +one infirmity pleading for another, palsy praying for paralysis; but +upon these devotions Brooks began to look with a frown. + +"What is the use of it?" he asked, speaking to his wife. "If a +celebrated specialist can't do her any good, I know that an old man's +prayer can't." + +"We ought not to deny her anything," the wife answered. + +"And we ought not to inflict her with anything," the husband replied. + +"Prayer was never an infliction to her." + +"But this old man's praying is an infliction to the rest of us." + +"Not to me; and you needn't hear him." + +"I can't help it if I'm at home." + +"But you needn't be at home when he comes." + +"Oh, I suppose I could go over and stand on the lake shore, but it +would be rather unpleasant this time of year." + +"There are other places you can go." + +"Oh, I suppose so. Doesn't make any difference to you, of course, +where I go." + +"Not much," she answered. + +The Witherspoon family was gathered one evening in the mother's room. +It was Mrs. Witherspoon's birthday, and it was a home-like picture, +this family group, with the mother sitting in a rocking-chair, fondly +looking about and giving the placid heed of love to Henry whenever he +spoke. On the walls were hung the portraits of early Puritans, the +brave and rugged ancestors of Uncle Louis and Uncle Harvey, and all +her mother's people, who were dark. + +Ellen had been imitating a Miss Miller, who, it was said, was making a +determined set at Henry, and Witherspoon was laughing at the aptness +of his daughter's mimicry. + +"I must confess," said Mrs. Witherspoon, slowly rocking herself, "that +I don't see anything to laugh at. Miss Miller is an exceedingly nice +girl, I'm sure, but I don't think she is at all suited to my son. She +giggles at everything, and Henry is too sober-minded for that sort of +a wife." + +"But marriage would probably cure her giggling," Witherspoon replied, +slyly winking at Henry. "To a certain kind of a girl there is nothing +that so inspires a giggle as the prospect of marriage, but marriage +itself is the greatest of all soberers--it sometimes removes all +traces of the previous intoxication." + +"Now, George, what is the use of talking that way?" She rarely called +him George. "You know as well as you know anything that I didn't +giggle. Of course I was lively enough, but I didn't go about giggling +as Miss Miller does." + +"Oh, perhaps not exactly as Miss Miller does, but"-- + +"George!" + +"I say you didn't. But anybody can see that Ellen is a sensible girl, +and yet she giggles." + +"Not at the prospect of marriage, papa," the girl replied. "To look at +Mr. Brooks and his wife is quite enough to make me serious." + +"Brooks and his wife? What do you mean?" + +"Perhaps I oughtn't to have said anything, but they appear to make +each other miserable. There, now, I wish I _hadn't_ said anything. I +might have known that it would make you look glum." + +"How do you know that they make each other miserable?" + +"I know this, that when they should be on their good behavior they +can't keep from snapping at each other. I was over there this +afternoon, and when Mr. Brooks came home he began to growl about the +preacher's coming once a week to pray for Mrs. Colton. He ought to be +ashamed of himself. The poor old creature lies there so helpless; and +he wants to deny her even the consolation of hearing her pastor's +voice. And he knows that she was so devoted to the church." + +"My daughter," Witherspoon gravely said, "there must be some mistake +about this." + +"But I know that there isn't any mistake about it. I was there, I tell +you." + +"And still there may be some mistake," Witherspoon insisted. + +"What doctor's treating the old lady?" Henry asked. + +"A celebrated specialist, Brooks tells me," Witherspoon answered. + +"What's his name?" + +"I don't remember," said Witherspoon. "Do you know, Ellen?" + +"Doctor Linmarck," Ellen answered. + +"Let us not think of anything so very unpleasant," said Mrs. +Witherspoon. + +But the spirit of pleasantry was flown. With another imitation of Miss +Miller, Ellen strove to call it back, but failed, for Witherspoon paid +no attention to her. He sat brooding, with a countenance as fixed as +the expression of a mask, and in his gaze, bent on that nothing +through which nothing can be seen, there was no light. + +"Father, do your new slippers fit?" Mrs. Witherspoon asked. He was not +George now. + +"Very nicely," he answered, with a warning absentmindedness. +Presently he went to the library, and shutting out the amenities of +that cheerful evening, shut in his own somber brooding. + +"I don't see why he should let that worry him so," said Mrs. +Witherspoon. "He's getting to be so sensitive over Brooks." + +"I don't think it's his sensitiveness over Brooks, mother," Ellen +replied, "but the fact that he is gradually finding out that Brooks is +not so perfect as he pretends to be." + +"I don't know," the mother rejoined, "but I think he has just as much +confidence in Brooks as he ever had. I know he said last night that +the Colossus couldn't get along without him." + +"Ellen," said Henry, "what is the name of that doctor?" + +"Linmarck. It isn't so hard to remember, is it?" + +"No, but I forgot it." + +Immediately after reaching the office the next day, Henry sent for a +reporter who had lived so long in Chicago that he was supposed +thoroughly to know the city. + +"Are you acquainted with Doctor Linmarck?" Henry asked when the +reporter entered the room. + +"Linmarck? Let me see. No, don't think I am." + +"Did you ever hear of him?" + +"What's his particular line?" + +"Paralysis, I think." + +"No, I've never heard of him." + +"Well, find out all you can about him and let me know as soon as +possible. And say," he added as the reporter turned to go, "don't say +a word about it." + +"All right." + +Several hours later the reporter returned. "Did you learn anything?" +Henry asked. + +"Yes, about all there is to learn, I suppose. He has an office on +Wabash Avenue, near Twelfth Street. I called on him." + +"Does he look like a great specialist?" + +"Well, his beard is hardly long enough for a great specialist." + +"But does he appear to be prosperous?" + +"His location stands against that supposition." + +"But does he strike you as being an impostor?" + +"Well, not exactly that; but I shouldn't like to be paralyzed merely +to give him a chance to try his hand on me. I told him that I had +considerable trouble with my left arm, and he asked if I had ever been +afflicted with rheumatism, or if I had ever been stricken with typhoid +fever, or--I don't remember how many diseases he tried on suspicion. I +told him that so far as I knew I had been in excellent health, and +then he began to ask me about my parents. I told him that they were +dead and that I didn't care to be treated for any disease that they +might have had. I asked him where he was from, and he said +Philadelphia. He hasn't been here long, but is treating some very +prominent people, he says. There may be a reason why he should be +employed, but I failed to find it." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +TO GO ON A VISIT. + + +A month must have passed since Henry had sought to investigate the +standing of Dr. Linmarck, when, one evening, Ellen astonished her +father with the news that old Mrs. Colton was to be taken on a visit +to her sister, who lived in New Jersey. The sister had written an +urgent letter to Mrs. Brooks, begging that the old lady might +straightway be sent to her, and offering to relieve Mr. Brooks of all +the trouble and responsibility that might be incurred by the journey. +She would send her son and her family physician. Witherspoon grunted +at so absurd a request and was surprised that Brooks should grant it. +The old woman might die on the train, and besides, what possible +pleasure could she extract from such a visit? It was nonsense. + +"But suppose the poor old creature wants to go?" said Mrs. +Witherspoon. + +"Ah, but how is any one to know whether she does or not?" + +"Of course no one can tell what she thinks, but it is reasonable to +suppose that she would like to see her sister." + +"Oh, yes, it is reasonable to suppose almost anything when you start +out on that line; but it's not common sense to act upon almost any +supposition. Of course, the old lady can live but a short time, and I +think that if she were given her own choice she would prefer to die in +her own bed. I shall advise Brooks not to let her go." + +"I hope you'll not do that," said Henry, and he spoke with an +eagerness that caused the merchant to give him a look of sharp +inquiry. "I hope that you'll not seek to deprive the sister, who I +presume is a very old woman, of the pleasure of sheltering one so +closely related to her. The trip may be fatal, and yet it might be a +benefit. At any rate don't advise Brooks not to let her go." + +"Oh, it's nothing to me," Witherspoon replied, "and I didn't suppose +that it was so much to the rest of you. How I do miss that old man!" +he added after musing for a few moments. "The peculiar laugh he had +when pleased became a very distressing cough whenever he fancied that +his expenses were running too high, and every day I am startled by +some noise that sounds like his hack, hack! And just as frequently I +hear his good-humored ha, ha! He had never gone away during the +summer, but he told me that this summer he was going to a +watering-place and enjoy himself. 'And, Witherspoon,' he said, 'I'm +going to spend money right and left.' Picture that old man spending +money either right or left. He would have backed out when the time +came. Some demand would have kept him at home." + +"His will leaves everything to his wife, I believe," Henry remarked. + +"Yes, with the proviso that at her death it is to go to Mrs. Brooks. +Brooks has already taken Colton's place in the store, and now the +question is, Who can fill Brooks' place?" + +"I don't think you will have any trouble in filling it," Henry +replied. "No matter who drops out, the affairs of this life go +on just the same. A man becomes so identified with a business +that people think it couldn't be run without him. He dies, and the +business--improves." + +"Yes, it appears so," Witherspoon admitted; "but what I wanted to get +at, coming straight to the point, is this: I need you now more than +ever before. One of the penalties of wealth is that a rich man is +forced constantly to fumble about in the dark, feeling for some one +whose touch may inspire confidence. That's the position I'm in." + +"You make a strong appeal," said Henry, "far stronger than any +personal advantages you could point out to me." + +"But is it strong enough to move you?" + +"It might be strong enough to move me to a sacrifice of myself, and +still fail to draw me into a willingness to risk the opinion you have +expressed of what you term my manliness. As a business man I know that +I should be a failure, and then I'd have your pity instead of your +good opinion. Let me tell you that I am a very ordinary man. I haven't +the quickness which is a business man's enterprise, nor that judgment +which is his safeguard. My newspaper is a success, but it is mainly +because I have a capable man in the business office. It grieves me to +disappoint you, and I will take an oath that if I felt myself capable +I'd cheerfully give up journalism and place myself at your service." + +"Father," said Mrs. Witherspoon--and anxiously she had been watching +her husband--"I don't see what more he could say." + +"He has said quite enough," Witherspoon replied. + +"But you are not angry, are you, papa?" Ellen asked. + +"No, I'm hurt." + +"I'm very sorry," said Henry, "but permit me to say that a man of your +strength of mind shouldn't be hurt by a present disappointment that +may serve to prevent a possible calamity in the future." + +"High-sounding nonsense. I could pick up almost any bootblack and make +a good business man of him." + +"But you can't pick up almost any boy and make a good bootblack of +him. The bootblack is already a business man in embryo." + +Witherspoon did not reply to this statement. He mused for a few +moments and then remarked: "If it weren't too late we might make a +preacher of you." + +Mrs. Witherspoon's countenance brightened. "I am sure he would make a +good one," she said. "My grandfather was a minister, and we have a +book of his sermons now, somewhere. If you want it, my son, I will get +it for you." + +"Not to-night, mother." + +"I didn't mean to-night. Ellen, what _are_ you giggling at?" + +"Why, mother, he would rather smoke that old black pipe than to read +any book that was ever printed." + +"When I saw the pipe that had robbed Kittymunks of his coat," said +Henry, "I thought of my pipe tied with a ribbon." + +During the remainder of the evening Witherspoon joined not in the +conversation, he sat brooding, and when bed-time came, he stood in his +accustomed place on the hearth-rug and wound his watch, still +appearing to gaze at something far away. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +HENRY'S INCONSISTENCY. + + +Snorting March came as if blown in off the icy lake, and oozy April +fell from the clouds. How weary we grow of winter in a cold land, and +how loath is winter to permit the coming of spring! May stole in from +the south. There came a warm rain, and the next morning strips of +green were stretched along the boulevards. + +Nature had unrolled double widths of carpet during the night, and at +sunset a yellow button lay where the ground had been harsh so long--a +dandelion. An old man, in whom this blithe air stirred a recollection +of an amative past, sat on a bench in the park, watching the +flirtations of thrill-blooded youth, and pale mothers, housed so long +with fretful children, turned loose their cares upon the grass. It was +a lolling-time, a time to lose one's self in the blue above, or +sweetly muse over the green below. + +One night a hot wind came, and the nest morning was summer. The horse +that had drawn coal during the winter, now hitched to an ice wagon, +died in the street. The pavements throbbed, the basement restaurants +exhaled a sickening air, and through the grating was blown the +cellar's cool and mouldy breath; and the sanitary writer on the +editorial page cried out: "Boil your drinking-water!" + +It was Witherspoon's custom, during the heated term, to take his wife +and his daughter to the seaside, and to return when the weather there +became insufferably hot. It was supposed that Henry would go, but when +the time came he declared that he had in view a piece of work that +most not be neglected. Witherspoon recognized the urgency of no work +except his own. "What, you can't go!" he exclaimed. "What do you mean +by 'can't go'?" + +"I mean simply that it is not convenient for me to get away at this +time." + +"And is it your scheme now to act entirely upon your own convenience? +Can't you sometimes pull far enough away from yourself to forget your +own convenience?" + +"Oh, yes, but I can't very well forget that on this occasion it is +almost impossible for me to get away. Of course you don't understand +this, and I am afraid that if I should try I couldn't make it very +clear to you." + +"Oh, you needn't make any explanation to me, I assure you. I had +planned an enjoyment for your mother and sister, and if you desire to +interfere with it, I have nothing more to say." + +"I have no business that shall interfere with their enjoyment," Henry +replied. "I'm ready to go at any time." + +The next day Witherspoon said: "Henry, if you have decided to go, +there is no use of my leaving home." + +"Now there's no need of all this sacrifice," Mrs. Witherspoon +protested, "for the truth is I don't want to go anyway. During the hot +weather I am never so comfortable anywhere as I am at home. My son, +you shall not go on my account; and as for Ellen, she can go with +some of our friends. But, father, I do think that you need rest." + +"Very true," he admitted, "but unfortunately we can't drop a worry and +run away from it." + +"But what is worrying you now?" + +"_Everything_. Nothing goes on as it should, and every day it seems +that a new annoyance takes hold of me." + +"In your time you have advised many a man to be sensible," said Henry, +"and now if you please, permit a man who has never been very sensible +to advise you." Witherspoon looked at him. "My advice is, be +sensible." + +In a fretful resentment Witherspoon jerked his shoulder as if with +muscular force he sought a befitting reply, but he said nothing and +Henry continued: "This may be impudence on my part, but in impudence +there may lie a good intention and a piece of advice that may not be +bad. The worry of a strong man is a sign of danger. The truth is that +if you keep on this way you'll break down." + +"None of you know what you are talking about," Witherspoon declared. +"I'm as strong as I ever was. I'm simply annoyed, that's all." + +"Why don't you see the doctor?" his wife asked. + +"What do I want to see him for? What does he know about it? Don't you +worry. I'm all right." + +His fretfulness was not continuous. Sometimes his spirits rose to +exceeding liveliness, and then he laughed at the young man and joked +him about Miss Miller. But a single word, however lightly spoken, +served to turn him back to peevishness. One evening Henry remarked +that he was compelled to leave town on the day following and that he +might be absent nearly a week. + +"Why, how is this?" Witherspoon asked, with a sudden change of manner. +"The other day you almost swore that it was impossible for you to +leave home, and now you are compelled to go. What do you mean?" + +"I have business out of town, and it demands my attention." + +"_Business_ out of town. The other day you despised business; now +you've got business out of town. I'll take an oath right now that you +are the strangest mortal I ever struck." + +"I admit the appearance of inconsistency," Henry replied. + +"And I _know_ the existence of it," Witherspoon rejoined. + +"You think so. The truth is that the affair I now have on hand had +something to do with my objecting to leave town last week." + +"Why don't you tell me what it is?" + +"I will when the time is ripe." + +The merchant grunted. "Is it a love affair?" + +Mrs. Witherspoon became newly concerned. "In one sense, yes," Henry +answered. "It is the love of justice." + +Witherspoon called his wife's attention by clearing his throat. +"Madam, I may be wrong, but it strikes me that your son is crazy. Good +night." + +Henry left town the next morning. He went to New Jersey. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +WORE A ROSE ON HIS COAT. + + +Henry was absent nearly a week, and upon returning he did not refer to +the business that had so peremptorily called him away. Mrs. +Witherspoon still had a fear that it might be a love affair, and Ellen +had a fear that it might not be. To keep the young woman's interest +alive a mystery was necessary, and to free the mother's love from +anxiety unrestrained frankness was essential. And so there was not +enough of mystery to thrill the girl nor enough of frankness to +satisfy the mother. In this way a week was passed. + +"I don't see why you make so much of it," Witherspoon said to his +wife. "Is there anything so strange in a young man's leaving town? Do +you expect him to remain forever within calling distance? He told you +that you should know in due time. What more can you ask? You are +foolishly worried over him, and what is there to worry about?" + +"I suppose I am," she answered, "but I'm so much afraid that he'll +marry some girl that I shall not like." + +"It's not only that, Caroline. You are simply afraid that he will +marry some girl. The fear of not liking her is a secondary anxiety." + +"But, father, you know"-- + +"Oh, yes, I know. But he is a man--presumably," he added to +himself--"and your love cannot make him a child. It is true that we +were robbed of the pleasure his infancy would have afforded us, but +it's not true that there now exists any way by which that lost +pleasure can be supplied. As for myself, I regret the necessity that +compels me to say that he is far from being a comfort to me. What has +he brought me? Nothing but an additional cause for worry." + +"Father, don't say that!" + +"But I am compelled to say it. I have pointed out a career to him and +he simply bats his eyes at it. He is the most peculiar creature I ever +saw. Oh, I know he has gone through enough to make him peculiar; I +know all about that, but I don't see the sense of keeping up that +peculiarity. He is aimless, and he doesn't want an aim urged upon +him." + +"But, father, he has made his newspaper a success." + +"Ah, but what does it amount to? Within ten years he might make a +hundred thousand dollars out of it, but"-- + +"Oh, surely more than that," she insisted. + +"Well, suppose he does make more than that; say that he may make two +hundred thousand. And even then what does it amount to in comparison +with what I offer?" + +"But you know he wants to be independent." + +"Independent!" he repeated. "I'll swear I don't understand that sort +of independence." + +"Well," she said, with a consoling sigh, "it will come out all right +after a while." + +They were sitting in Mrs. Witherspoon's room. The footman announced +that Mr. Brooks was waiting in the library. Witherspoon frowned. + +"You needn't see him, dear," said his wife. + +"Yes, I will. But I am tired and don't care to discuss business +affairs. Of late he brings nothing but bad news." + +The manager was exquisitely dressed and wore a rose on the lapel of +his coat. "I am on my way to an entertainment at the Yacht Club," said +he, when the merchant entered the library, "and I thought I'd drop in +for a few moments." + +"I'm glad you did," Witherspoon replied. "Sit down." + +"I haven't long to stay," said Brooks, seating himself. "I am on one +of the committees and must be getting over. Is your son going?" + +"I don't know. He hasn't come home yet." + +"He was invited," said Brooks. + +"That doesn't make any difference," Witherspoon replied. "He appears +to pay but little attention to invitations, or to anything else, for +that matter. Spends the most of his time at the Press Club, I think." + +"That's singular." + +"Very," said Witherspoon. + +"I was there the evening they gave a reception to Patti, some time +ago," Brooke remarked, "but I didn't see anything so very attractive +about the place." + +"I suppose not," Witherspoon replied, and then he added: "That's Henry +now, I think." + +Henry came in and was apparently surprised to see Brooks. "I have been +detained on account of business," he remarked as he sat down. Brooks +smiled. Evidently he knew what was passing in Witherspoon's mind. + +"My affairs may be light to some people," Henry said, "but they are +heavy enough to me." + +By looking serious Brooks sought to mollify the effect of his smile. +He had not taken the time to think that in his sly currying of +Witherspoon's favor he might be discovered, but now that he was caught +he fell back upon the recourse of a bungling compliment. "Oh, I'm +sure," said he, "that your business is most important. Your paper +shows the care and ability with which you preside over it. I think +it's the best paper in town, and advertisers tell me that they get +excellent returns from it." Here he caught Witherspoon's eye and +hastened to add: "Still, I believe that your place is with us in the +store. You could soon make yourself master of every detail." + +"But we will not talk about that now," Witherspoon spoke up. + +"Of course not; but I merely mentioned it to show my belief in your +son's abilities." + +The footman appeared at the door. "Two gentlemen wish to see Mr. +Brooks." + +"Who are they?" Witherspoon asked. + +"Wouldn't give me their names, sir." + +"Some of the boys from the club," said Brooks. "Well, I must bid you +good evening." + +"There was something I wanted to say to you," the merchant remarked, +walking down the hall with him. + +Henry did not get up, but he listened eagerly. Presently he heard +Witherspoon exclaim: "Great God!" And a moment later the merchant came +rushing back. + +"Where is my hat?" he cried. "Henry, Brooks is arrested on a charge of +murdering Colton! Where is my hat?" + +Henry got up, placed his hand on Witherspoon's shoulder, and said: +"Sit down here, father." + +"Sit down the devil!" he raved. "I tell you that Brooks has been +arrested. I am going down-town." + +"Not to-night. Sit down here." + +"What do you mean, sir!" + +"I mean that you must not go down-town. You can do no good by going, +Brooks is guilty. There is no doubt about it." + +The old man dropped in his chair. Mrs. Witherspoon came running into +the room. "What on earth is the matter?" she cried. Witherspoon +struggled to his feet. Henry caught him by the arm. "Mother, don't be +alarmed. Brooks has simply been arrested." + +"For the murder of Colton!" Witherspoon hoarsely whispered. His voice +had failed him. + +"Sit down, mother, and we will talk quietly about it. There is no +cause for excitement when you make up your minds that the fellow is +guilty, which you must do, for Mrs. Colton has made a statement--she +saw Brooks kill the old man." + +Witherspoon dropped in his chair. His hands hung listlessly beside +him. Mrs. Witherspoon ran to him. + +"Father!" + +He lifted his hand, a heavy weight it seemed, and motioned her away. +"The Colossus is ruined!" he hoarsely whispered. "Ruined. They'll try +to mix me up in it. Ruined!" + +"You can't be mixed up in it, and the Colossus will not be ruined," +Henry replied. + +"Yes, ruined. You haven't brought me anything but bad luck." + +"I have brought you the best luck of your life. I have helped you to +get rid of a vampire." + +"You have?" He turned his lusterless eyes upon Henry. + +"Yes, I have, and if you will be patient for a few moments I will make +it plain to you. But wait, you must not think of going down-town +to-night. Will you listen to me?" + +"Yes." + +"I was not the only one who suspected that Brooks had something to do +with the murder. Many people, in fact--it seemed that almost everybody +placed him under suspicion. But there was no evidence against him; +there was nothing but a strong supposition. You remember one evening +not long ago when Ellen said that he objected to the preacher's coming +to pray for Mrs. Colton. This was enough to stamp him a brute. Give +that sort of a man the nerve and he won't stop short of any cruelty or +any crime." + +"Are you going to tell me something or do you simply intend to +preach?" Witherspoon asked. His voice had returned. + +"Father, he's telling you as fast as he can." + +"And I must tell it my own way," Henry said. "That same evening I +learned the name of the doctor--the great specialist employed by +Brooks to treat the old lady. But I inquired about him and found that +he was simply a cheap quack. This was additional cause for suspicion. +I called on a detective and told him that I suspected Brooks. At this +he smiled. Then I said that if he would agree to give half the reward +to any charity that I might name, in the event of success, I would +submit my plan, and then he became serious. I convinced him that I had +not only a plausible but a direct clue, and he agreed to my proposal. +I then told him about the doctor; I expressed my belief that the old +woman must know something and urged that this might be brought out if +we could get her away and place her under the proper treatment. Well, +we learned that she had a sister living in New Jersey. The detective +went to see her, and you know the result--the old lady's removal. +Recently we received word that she was so much improved that she could +mumble in a way to be understood, and last week the detective and I +went to see her. This was my apparently inconsistent business out of +town." + +"But tell us what she said," Witherspoon demanded. + +"Her deposition is in the hands of the law." He said this with a sly +pleasure--Witherspoon had so often spoken of the law as if it were his +agent. "I can simply tell you," Henry continued, "that she saw Brooks +when he shot the old man." + +"But how can that be? Brooks and his wife ran into the room at the +same time. They were together." + +"Yes, they ran into the room together, and Brooks had presumably just +jumped out of bed. But be that as it may, Mrs. Colton saw him when he +shot the old man. And if he is guilty, why should you defend him?" + +Witherspoon got up. "You are not going down-town, father," his wife +pleaded. "George, you must not go!" + +"I'm not going, Caroline." He began to walk up and down the room, but +not with his wonted firmness of step. They said nothing to him; they +let him walk in his troubled silence. Turning suddenly he would +sometimes confront Henry and seem about to denounce him; and then he +was strong. But the next moment, and as if weakened by an +instantaneous failure of vital forces, he would helplessly turn to his +wife as though she could give him strength. + +"Don't let it worry you so, father," she begged of him; "don't let it +worry you so. It will come out all right. Nobody can fasten any blame +on you." + +"Yes, they will--yes, they will, the wretches. They hate me; they +bleed me every chance they get, and now they want to humble me--ruin +me. Nobody can ever know what I have gone through. Defend him!" he +exclaimed. "I hope they will hang him. I suspected him, and yet I was +afraid to, for in some way it seemed to involve me--I don't know how. +But I knew that the wretches would fix it up and ruin the Colossus. +For weeks and weeks it has been gnawing me like a rat. But what could +I do? I was afraid to discharge him. He's got a running tongue. But +what have I done?" he violently asked himself. "He took Colton's +place--held Colton's interest. I could do nothing. Sometimes I felt +that he was surely innocent. But I fancied that I could hear +mutterings whenever I passed people in the street, and the rat would +begin its gnawing again. He will drag us all down." His voice failed +him, and he sank in his chair. "Ruined! The Colossus is ruined!" he +hoarsely whispered. + +"If you would stop to think," said Henry, "you would know that your +trouble is mostly physical. Your nerves are unstrung. The public is +not so willing to believe any story that Brooks may tell. The Colossus +will not be injured. But I know that you place very little faith in +what I say." The merchant looked at him. "But mark my words: Your +standing will not be lowered--the Colossus will not show any ill +effect. It is too big a concern to be thus ruined. People trade there +for bargains, and not out of sentiment. In a short time Brooks will be +forgotten. It is perfectly clear to me." + +"Is it?" he asked, with eagerness. "Is it clear to you?" + +"Yes, perfectly." + +"Then make it clear to me. You can't do it, don't you see? You can't +do it." + +"Yes, he can, father; yes, he can," Mrs. Witherspoon pleaded. "It is +perfectly clear to me. You will look at it differently to-morrow. +Come, now, and lie down. Sleep will make it clear. Come on, now." + +She took hold of his arm. With a helpless trust he looked up at her. +"Come on, now." He lifted his heavy hands, got up with difficulty and +suffered her to lead him away. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +IMPATIENTLY WAITING. + + +While it was yet dark, and long before the dimply lake had caught a +glint from the coming sun, Witherspoon asked for the morning papers. +At brief periods of troubled sleep during the night he had fancied +that he was reading of the wreck of the Colossus and of his own +disgrace: and when he was told that the papers had not come, that it +was too early for them, he said: "Don't try to keep them back. I am +prepared." He wanted to get up and put on his clothes, but his wife +begged him to remain in bed. + +"Was the doctor here?" he asked. + +"Yes, don't you remember telling him that Brooks had been arrested?" + +"No, I don't remember anything but a bad taste in my mouth. I know +him; he leaves a bad taste as his visiting-card. What did he say? +Wasn't he delighted to have a chance at me?" + +"He said that if you keep quiet you will be all right in a day or +two." + +"Did anybody else come?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +"Reporters?" he asked. + +"Yes, I think so; but Henry saw them." + +"Hum! I suppose he will be known now as Witherspoon the detective." + +"No; the part he took will be kept a profound secret." + +"I hope so; but don't you think he would rather be known as some sort +of freak?" + +"No, dear. You do him an injustice." + +"But does he do me a _justice_? He's got to pay back every cent I +advanced on that newspaper deal." + +"We will attend to that, father." + +"_We_ will. You are to have nothing to do with it." + +"I mean that he will." + +"That's different. I'll take the thing away from him the first thing +he knows. I'm tired of his browbeating. Isn't it time for those +papers?" + +"Not quite." + +"Have they stopped printing them? Are they holding back just to worry +me now that they've got me down? Where's Henry?" + +"He has just gone out to wait for the carrier-boy. He's coming now, I +think." + +Henry came in with the morning papers. "What do they say?" Witherspoon +eagerly asked. He flounced up, and drawing the covers about him, sat +on the edge of the bed. + +"I'll see," Henry answered. + +"But be quick about it. Great goodness, I can't wait all day." + +"There's so much that I can't tell it in a breath." + +"But can't you give me the gist of it? Call yourself a newspaper man +and can't get at the gist of a thing." + +"Be patient a moment and I will read to you." + +During more than an hour Witherspoon sat, listening; and when the last +paper had been disposed of, he said: "Why, that isn't so bad. They +don't mix me up in it after all. What was that? Brooks seems to he +wavering and may make a confession? But what will he say? That's the +question. What will he say?" + +"How can he say anything to hurt you?" Mrs. Wither spoon asked. + +"He can't if he sticks to the truth. But will he? He may want to ruin +the Colossus. I will not go near him. They may hang him and let him +rot. I will not go near him. The truth is, I have been afraid of him. +The best of us have cause to fear the man we have placed too much +confidence in. Caroline, I'll get up." + +"Not now, father. The doctor said you must not get up to-day." + +"But does he suppose I'm going to lie here and let the Colossus run +wild? Got nobody to help me; nobody." + +"I will go down this morning and see that everything starts off all +right," said Henry. + +"You will? What do you know about it? You could have known all about +it, but what do you know now?" + +"I should think that the heads of the departments understand their +business; and I hope that I can at least represent you for a short +time." + +"For a short time? Oh, yes, a short time suits you exactly. Ellen +could do that, and I'd send her if she were at home." The girl was at +Lake Geneva. "Think you can go down and say, 'Wish you would open this +door if you please'? Think you can do that?" + +The mother put up her hands as though she would protect her son +against the merchant's feelingless reproach. For a time Henry sat +looking hard in Witherspoon's blood-shot eyes; and a thought, hot and +anger-edged, strove for utterance, but an appealing gesture, a look +from that gentle woman, turned his resentment into these consoling +words, "Don't worry. I think I know my duty when it's put before me. +The Colossus shall not suffer." + +How tenderly she looked at him. She made a magnanimity of the cooling +of his resentment and she gave him that sacred reward--a mother's +gratefulness. + +"All right," said the merchant, "Do the best you can." + +His quick discernment had caught the play between Henry and Mrs. +Witherspoon. "Of course I don't expect you to take my place. I want +you merely to show that the Witherspoon family hasn't run away." + +The doctor called and found his patient much improved. "A little rest +is all you need to bring you about again," the physician said. "Your +unsettled nerves have made you morbid. Don't worry. Everything will be +all right." + +The newspaper reports of the arrest of Brooks, although they proceeded +to arraign and condemn him, had on Witherspoon's nervous system more +of a retoning effect than could have been brought about by a doctor's +skill. That Brooks might be guilty, had not been the merchant's fear; +but that he himself might in some way be implicated, had been his +morbid dread. Now he could begin to recognize the truth that with a +black beast of his own creation he had frightened himself; and he +laughed with a nervous shudder. But when the doctor was gone he again +became anxious. + +"Caroline, didn't he ask if there had ever been any insanity in my +family?" + +"Why, no; he didn't hint at such a thing." + +"I must have dreamed it, then. But what makes me dream such strange +things? I thought you told him that my father had been a little off at +times. Didn't you?" + +"Why, of course not. You never told me that there was ever anything +wrong with your father, and even if there was how should I know it?" + +"But there wasn't anything wrong with him, Caroline, and why should +you say 'if there was.'" + +"Now, father, I never thought of such a thing as suspecting that there +was, and please don't let that worry you." + +"I won't, but didn't Henry bring a paper and keep it hidden until +after I went to sleep?" + +"No, he read them all to you." + +"I thought he brought in a weekly paper and read something about a +widow from Washington." + +"No, he didn't." + +After a time he dozed and then he began to mutter: "It is easier to +pay than to explain." + +"What is it, dear?" she asked, not noticing that he dozed. + +"Did you speak to me?" he inquired, rousing himself. + +"You said something about it's being easier to pay than to explain," +she answered. + +"Did I? Must have been dreaming. Has Ellen come home?" + +"Not yet, but I'm looking for her. Of course she started for home as +soon as she could after hearing the news." + +"What time is it?" + +"Twenty minutes of four," she answered, glancing at the clock. + +"I wonder why Henry doesn't come." + +"He'll be here soon." + +"Has any one heard from Mrs. Brooks?" + +"No. I would have gone over there, but I couldn't leave you." + +"You are a noble woman, Caroline." She was arranging his pillow and he +was looking up at her. "You are too good for me." + +"Please don't say that," she pleaded. + +"I might as well say it as to feel it. Isn't it time for Henry to +come?" + +"Yes, I think so. He'll be here soon, I'm sure." + +"I hope I shan't have to lie here to-morrow. I can't, and that's all +there is about it." + +He lay listening with the nervous ear of eagerness until so wearied by +disappointing noises that he sank into another doze. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +TOLD IT ALL. + + +Witherspoon started. "Ah, it's you. Did you bring the evening papers?" + +"Yes, here they are," Henry answered. + +"What do they say? Can't you tell me? Got the papers and can't tell me +what they say?" + +"They say a great deal," Henry replied. "Brooks has made a +confession." + +In an instant Witherspoon sat on the edge of the bed, with the covers +jerked about him. He opened his mouth, but no word came forth. + +"When he was told that Mrs. Colton had made a statement he gave up," +said Henry. "The confession is not a written one, but is doubtless +much fuller than if it were. I will take the _Star's_ report. They are +all practically the same, but this one has a few pertinent questions. +I will skip the introduction. + +"'I confess,' said Brooks, 'that I killed the old man, but I did not +murder him. I was trying to keep him from killing me. I had gone into +a losing speculation and was in pressing need of money. I knew that it +would be useless to ask him to help me; in fact, I didn't want him to +know that I had been speculating, and I decided to help myself. I knew +that he kept money in the safe at home; I didn't know how much, but I +thought that it was enough to help me out, and I began deliberately to +plan the robbery. I knew that it would have to be done in the most +skillful manner, for the old man's love of money made him as sharp as +a briar when money was at stake; and I was resolved to have no +confederates to share the reward and afterward to keep me in fear of +exposure, I wrote a letter, and using the first name that came into my +head, addressed it to "Dave Kittymunks, General Delivery, Chicago." I +don't know where I picked up the name, and it makes no difference. I +ran up to Milwaukee, dropped the letter in a mail box and was back +here before any one knew that I was out of town. I disguised myself +with black whiskers, went to the post-office and called for the +letter, and took care that the delivery clerk should notice me. Colton +supposed that none but members of his family knew of the safe at home, +and why a robber should know must be made clear; so, wearing the same +disguise, I called at the house one day and told the servant in charge +that I had been sent to search for sewer-gas. I showed an order. A +shrewd colored man had been discharged on account of some +irregularities into which I had entrapped him, and an ignorant fellow +that had agreed to work for less had just been put in his place. One +evening when our family visited the Witherspoons I perfected my +arrangements. I sawed the iron bars at the window and placed the black +coat, with the Kittymunks letter in the pocket, as if the sash had +failed and caught it. It was necessary that the coat should be found, +and it was hardly natural that it should be found lying in the yard, +it must appear that in his haste to get away the robber was compelled +to leave his coat, and this could not be done unless he was forced to +get out of it, leaving the police to suspect that he had done so with +a struggle. I had torn one sleeve nearly off. But the mere falling of +the sash on the tail of the coat would not do, it would pull out too +easily. Then I thought of the pipe. I arranged the safe so that with a +chisel I could open it easily--it was an old and insecure thing, +anyway--and then placed a ladder on the ground under the window. Here +there is a paved walk, so there was no necessity to make tracks. Now, +there was but one thing more, and that was a noise to sound like the +falling of the sash, and which was to wake the old man so that he +might jump up almost in time to catch the robber. I had almost +forgotten this, and now it puzzled me. The vault-room, a narrow +apartment, is between the old man's room and mine, and I could have +left the window up, propped with a stick, and from my window jerked +out the prop, but the cool air would have shown the old man that the +window was raised, and this would have ruined everything. Finally I +decided that the falling of my own window--both are old-fashioned and +are held up by a notched button--would arouse him and that he would +think that the noise came from the vault-room. I would prop it with +the edge of the button so that a slight pull on a string would throw +it. But another question then arose. The weather was cold, and why +should we have our window up so high? How should I explain to my wife? +I would build a roaring fire in the furnace. That would heat the room +too hot and give me an excuse to raise the window. But she would find +it down. I could tell her that the room cooled off and that I put it +down. But I was quibbling with myself. Everything was settled. The +hall-door of the vault-room is but a step from my own door, and was +kept fastened with a spring lock and a bolt and was supposed never to +be opened. I drew back the bolt and the catch, and fixed the catch so +that I could easily spring it when I went out. When everything had +thus been arranged, I went to Witherspoon's to come home with the +folks. The sky was clouded and the night was very dark. When we +reached home the old man complained of having eaten too +much--something he never had cause to complain of when he ate at +home--and said that he believed he would lie down. + +"'The window of the vault-room was never raised by the old man, and +was kept fastened down with an old-time cast-iron catch. I had broken +this off; but, afraid that he might examine the window and the door, I +went with him to his room. And when he went into the vault-room to +light the gas, I stood in the door and talked to him about his +intended investment, and I talked so positively of the great profit +he would surely make that he looked at neither the door nor the +window. Everything had worked well. I bade him and the old lady good +night and went to my own room. My wife complained of the heat, and I +raised the window, remarking that I would get up after a while and put +it down. How dreadfully slow the time was after I went to bed! And +when I thought that every one must be asleep, my wife startled me by +asking if I had noticed how unusually feeble her mother looked. I +imagined that some one was dragging the ladder from under the window, +and once I fancied that I heard the old man call me. The thought, the +possibility of committing murder never occurred to me. The positive +knowledge that I should never be discovered and that I should get +every dollar of his money would not have tempted me to kill him. I lay +for a long time--until I knew that every one must be asleep. Then I +carefully got out of bed. I struck a chair, and I waited to see if my +wife had been awakened by the noise. No; she was sound asleep. I tied +a string to the window button, got my tools, which I had hidden in a +closet and which were mainly intended for show after the robbery was +discovered, and softly stole out. The hall was dark. The old man hated +a gas-bill. I felt my way to the vault-room door and gently pushed it +open, a little at a time. When I got inside I remembered that the very +first thing I must attend to during the excitement which would follow +the discovery of the robbery was to slip the bolt back in its place. +The gas appeared to be burning lower than usual, and I wondered if the +prospect of parting with money enough to make the investment had +driven the old man to one more turn of his screw of economy. Although +I knew how to open the safe, for previous arrangement had made it +easy, I found it to be some trouble after all. But I got it open and +had taken out the money drawer when a noise startled me. I sprang up, +and there was the old man. He was but a few feet from me. He had a +pistol. I saw it gleam in the dim light. I couldn't stand discovery, +and I must protect myself against being shot. I knew that in the +semi-darkness he did not recognize me. All this came with a flash. I +sprang upon him. With one hand I caught the pistol, with the other I +clutched his throat. I would choke him senseless and run back to my +room. He threw up one hand, threw back his head and freed his throat. +We were under the gas jet. My hand struck the screw, and the light +leaped to full blaze. At that instant the pistol fired and the old man +fell, I wheeled about and was in the hall; I sprung the lock after me, +and in a second I was in my own room--just as my wife, dazed with +fright, had jumped out of bed. "Come," I cried, "something must have +happened." And together we ran into the old man's room.' + +"'During the excitement which followed I forgot no precaution; I +slipped the bolt back into place and removed the string from the +button of my own window. My wife was frantic. I did not suspect that +the old woman had seen me, for I was not in the vault-room an instant +after the pistol fired, and before that it was so dark that she could +not have recognized me. If I had thought that she did see me'-- + +"'What would you have done?' the reporter asked. + +"'I don't know,' Brooks answered, 'but it is not reasonable to suppose +that I would have let her go away from home. I acknowledge that I +did not care to see her recover--now that I am acknowledging +everything--for at best she could be only in the way, and naturally, +she would interfere with my management of the estate. But if I had +been anxious that she should die, I could have had her poisoned. +Instead, however, I employed a quack, who I knew pretended to be a +great physician, and who I believed could do her no good. In fact, I +didn't think that she could live but a few days.' After pausing for a +moment he added, 'She must have seen me just as the light blazed up, +and was doubtless standing back from the door. I didn't take any +money.' + +"'But why didn't you take the money while the old man was away? Then +you would have run no risk of killing him or of being killed." + +"'I could easily have done this, but he was so shrewd. I wanted him to +believe that he had almost caught the robber.' + +"'Then there is no such man as Dave Kittymunks,' said the reporter. + +"'No,' Brooks answered. + +"'But Flummers, the reporter, said that he knew him.' + +"'I met Mr. Flummers one evening,' Brooks replied, 'and before we +parted company I think that he must have had in his mind a vague +recollection of having seen such a fellow. The public was eager, and +that was a great stimulus to Mr. Flummers.' + +"'Did you feel that you were suspected?' the reporter asked. + +"'Not of having committed the murder, but I felt that I was suspected +of having had something to do with it. But I hadn't a suspicion that +any proof existed. I could stand suspicion, especially as I should +receive large pay for it. A number of men in this city are under +suspicion of one kind or another, but it doesn't seem to have hurt +them a great deal. Their checks are good. Men come back from the +penitentiary and build up fortunes with the money they stole. Their +hammered brass fronts and colored electric lights are not unknown to +Clark Street.' + +"'But you suffered remorse, of course,' the reporter suggested. + +"'I think that there is a great deal of humbug about the remorse a man +feels,' Brooks replied. 'I regretted that I had been forced to kill +the old man, for with all his stinginess he was rather kind-hearted, +but I had to save my own life. It is true that I didn't have to commit +the robbery, but robbery is not a capital crime.' + +"'But the self-defense of a robber, when it results in a tragedy, is a +murder,' the reporter suggested. + +"'We'll see about that,' Brooks coolishly replied. + +"'Do you make this confession with the advice of your lawyer?' + +"'No, but at the suggestion of my own judgment. When I was told that +the old woman had seen the killing and that, of course, her deposition +would be introduced in court, I then knew that it was worse than +useless to protest my innocence. Besides, as she saw it, the tragedy +was a murder, but, as I confess it'--He hesitated. + +"'It is what?' the reporter asked. + +"'Well, that's for the law to determine. There should always be some +mercy for a man who tells the truth. I have done a desperate thing--I +staked my future on it. But I have associated with rich men so long +that for me a future without money could be but a continuation of +embarrassment. I have helped to make the fortunes of other men, but I +failed when I engaged in speculations for myself. I had prospects, it +is true, but I didn't know but Colton had arranged his will so as to +prevent my using his money; and I had reason to fear that my wife was +in touch with him,' + +"'Has she been to see you?' the reporter asked. + +"'That's rather an impertinent question,' Brooks replied, 'but I may +as well confess everything. We haven't been getting along very well +together. No, she hasn't been to see me. Not one of my friends has +called. There, gentlemen, I have told you everything.'" + +When the last word of the interview had been pronounced, Witherspoon +grunted and lay back with his hands clasped under his head. + +"What do you think of it?" Henry asked. + +"There's hardly any room for thinking." + +But he did think, and a few moments later he said: "Of all the +cold-blooded scoundrels I ever heard of, he takes the lead. And just +to think what I have done for him! I don't think, though, that he has +robbed us of much. He didn't have the handling of a great deal of +cash. Still I can't tell. My, how sharp he is! He didn't mention the +Colossus. But what difference Would it make?" He sat up. "What need I +care how often he mentions it? The public knows me. Nobody ever had +cause to question my credit. Why should I have been worried over him? +Henry, you are right; my trouble is the result of a physical cause. +Caroline, I'm going in to dinner with you." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +POINTS OUT HER BROTHER'S DUTY. + + +In the afternoon of the day that followed the publication of the +confession Flummers minced his way into the Press Club. He wore a suit +of new clothes, and although the weather was warm, he carried a +silk-faced overcoat. Before any one took notice of him he put his coat +and hat on the piano, and then, with a gesture, he exclaimed: + +"_Wow!_" + +"Why, here's Kittymunks! Helloa, Kit!" one man shouted. "Have you +identified Brooks?" some one else cried, and a roar followed. + +For a moment Flummers stood smiling at this raillery; then suddenly, +and as though he would shut out a humiliating scene, he pressed his +hands across his eyes. But his hands flew off into a double +gesture--into a gathering motion that invited every one to come into +his confidence, and solemnly he pronounced these words: + +"He made a monkey of me." + +"I should say he did!" Whittlesy cried. "Oh, you'll hold me in the +hollow of your hand, will you?" + +Flummers looked at Whittlesy and scalloped the forerunner of a +withering speech; but, thoughtful enough suddenly to remember that at +this solemn time his words and his eyes belonged not to one man, but +to the entire company, he withdrew his gaze from Whittlesy, and in +his broad look included every one present. + +"He made a monkey of me. He stopped me on the street one evening--I +had boned him for an advertisement when I was running _The Art of +Interior Decoration_--and was so polite that I said to myself: 'Papa, +here's another flip man thirsting for recognition. Put him on your +staff.' Well, we had a bowl or two at Garry's, and the first thing I +knew he began to remind me that I remembered a fellow who must be +Kittymunks, and I said, 'Hi, gi, here's a scoop.' And it was. Oh, it's +a pretty hard matter to scoop papa"--(tapping his head). "Papa knows +what the public wants, and he serves it up. Some of you dry-dock +conservative ducks would have let it go by, but papa is nothing if not +adventurous. Papa knows that without adventure you make no +discoveries. But, wow! he did make a monkey of me. Just think of a +floor-walker making a monkey of papa!" He pressed his hand to his +brow. "Why, a floor-walker has been my especial delicacy--he has been +my appetizer, my white-meat--but, wow! this fellow was a gristle." + +"Mr. Flummers," said McGlenn, "we all love you." + +"Say, John, I owe you two dollars." + +"No, Mr. Flummers, you don't owe me anything." + +"But I borrowed two dollars from you, John, when I started _The +Bankers' Review."_ + +"No man can borrow money from me, Mr. Flummers. If he gets money from +me, it's his and not mine. We all love you, Mr. Flummers, and your +Kittymunks escapade, so thoroughly in keeping with our estimate of +you, has added strength to our affection. If you wish to keep friends, +Mr. Flummers, you must do nothing which they could not forecast for +you. The development of hitherto undiscovered traits, of an +unsuspected and therefore an inconsistent strength, is a dash of cold +water in the face of friendship. We are tied to you by a strong rope +made of the strands of weaknesses, Mr. Flummers." + +"Oh, no." + +"Yes, made of the fine-spun strands of weaknesses, Mr. Flummers. It is +better to be a joss of pleasing indiscretion than to be a man of great +strength, for the joss has no enemies, but sooner or later the strong +man must be overthrown by the hoard of weaklings that envy has set +against him. Do you desire something to drink, Mr. Flummers?" + +"No." + +"Now you place your feet on inconsistent and slippery ground, Mr. +Flummers. Remember that in order to hold our love you must not +surprise us." + +"But I can't drink now; I have just had something to eat." + +"Beware, Mr. Flummers. Inconsiderate eating caused a great general to +lose a battle, and now you are in danger. You may suffer superfluous +lunch to change our opinion of you, which means a withdrawal of our +love." + +"Oh, wait a minute or two, John. But never mind. Say, there, boy, +bring me a little liquor. But, say, wasn't it funny that Detective +Stavers should give ten thousand dollars of that reward to the Home +for the Friendless? I used to work for the Pinkertons, and I know all +those guys, and there's not one of the whole gang that gives a snap +for charity. There's a mystery about it somewhere." + +"Probably you can throw some light on it as you did on the Kittymunks +affair," Whittlesy suggested. + +Flummers gave him a scallop. "Papa still holds you in the hollow of +his hand. Here you are; see?" He put his finger in the palm of his +hand. "You are right there; see? And when I want you, I'm going to +shut down, this way." He closed his hand. "And people will wonder what +papa's carrying around with him, but you'll know all the time." + +"My," said Whittlesy, "what a dangerous man this fellow would be if he +had nerve! Oh, yes, people will wonder what you have in the hollow of +your hand, and sooner or later, they will find that you are carrying +three shells and a pea. Get out, Kittymunks. I'm afraid of you--too +tough for me." + +Flummers waved Whittlesy into oblivion, and continued: "Old +Witherspoon gave up his check for twenty thousand, and there the +reward stops, for Mrs. Brooks won't give anything for having her +husband caught. It has been whispered in the _Star_ office that Henry +Witherspoon had something to do with the detection of Brooks, and made +Stavers promise that he would give half the reward to charity. But I +don't believe it. Why should he want to give up ten thousand? But +there's a mystery in it somewhere, and the first thing you know +papa'll get on the track of it. Here, boy, bring that drink. What have +you been doing out there? Have I got to drink alone? Well, I'm equal +to any emergency." He shuddered as he swallowed the whisky, but +recovered instantly, and with a circular movement, expressive of his +satisfaction, rubbed his growing paunch. + +Witherspoon remained three days at home and then resumed his place at +the store. With a promptness in which he took a pride, he sent a check +to the detective. He did this even before he went down to the +Colossus. The physician had urged him to put aside all business cares, +and the merchant had replied with a contemptuous grunt. He appeared to +be stronger when he came home at evening, and he joked with Ellen; he +told her that she had narrowly escaped the position of temporary +manager of the Colossus. They were in the library, and a cheerfulness +that had been absent seemed just to have returned. Witherspoon went +early to bed and left Henry and Ellen sitting there. + +"Don't you think he will be well in a few days?" the girl asked. + +"Yes, now that his worry is locked in jail." + +"That isn't so very bad," she replied, smiling at him. "But suppose +they hang his worry?" + +"It may be all the better." + +"Mother and I went this afternoon to see Mrs. Brooks," said the girl. +"And she doesn't appear to be crushed, either. I don't see why she +should be--they wouldn't have lived together much longer anyway. Oh, +of course she's humiliated and all that, but if she really cared for +him she'd be heartbroken. She used to tell me how handsome he was, but +that was before they were married. I think she must have found out +lately what she might have known at first--that he married her for +money. Oh, she's a good woman--there's no doubt of that--but she's +surely as plain a creature as I've ever seen." + +"If I had thought that she loved him," said Henry, "I should have +hesitated a long time before seeking to fasten the murder on him. I +may have only a vague regard for justice, for abstract right is so +intangible; but I have a strong and definite sympathy." + +"We all have," she said. "Oh, by the way," she broke off, as though by +mere accident she had thought of something, "you superintended the +Colossus for two whole days, didn't you?" + +"I didn't exactly superintend it, but I stood about with an air of +helpless authority." + +"But how did you get along with your paper during all that worry?" she +asked; and before he answered she added, "I don't see how you could +write anything." + +"Worry is a bad producer, but a good critic," Henry replied. "And I +didn't try to write much," he added. + +She put her elbows on the arm of her chair, rested her chin on her +hand and leaned toward him. "Do you know what I've been thinking of +ever since I came home?" she asked. + +"Well," he answered, smiling on her, "as you haven't told me and as I +am not a mind-reader, I can't say that I do." + +"Must I tell you?" + +"Yes." + +"And you won't be put out?" + +"Surely not. You wouldn't want to tell me if you thought it would put +me out, would you?" + +"No, but I was afraid this might." She hesitated. "I have been +thinking that you ought to go into business with father. Wait a +moment, now, please. You said you wouldn't be put out. You see how +much he needs you, and you ought to be willing to make a personal +sacrifice. You"-- + +He reached over and put his hand on her head. She looked into his +eyes. "Ellen, there is but one thing that binds me to a past that was +a hardship, but which after all was a liberty; and that one thing is +the fact that I am independent of the Colossus, the mill where +thousands of feet are treading. I have one glimpse of freedom, and +that is through the window of my office. It isn't possible that you +can wholly understand me, but let me tell you one time for all that I +shall have nothing to do with the store." + +She put his hand off her head and settled back in her chair. "I +thought you might if I asked you, but I ought to have known that +nothing I could say would have any effect. You don't care for me; you +don't care for any of us." + +"Ellen, it is but natural that you should side with father against me, +and it is also natural that I should decide in favor of myself. You +may say that on my part it is selfishness, and I may say that it is +more just than selfish. But you must _not_ say that I don't care for +you." + +"Oh, it is easy enough for you to say that you _do_ care for me," she +replied. "It costs but a breath that must be breathed anyway; but if +you really cared for me you would do as I ask you--as I beg of you." + +"Well," and he laughed at her, "there is a charming narrowness in that +view, I must say. If I love you I will grant whatever you may ask; and +if you love me--then what? Shall I answer?" + +"Yes," she said, "as you seem to know what answer will be most +acceptable to you." + +"No, not the answer most acceptable to me, but the one that seems to +be the most consistent. And if you love me," he continued, in answer +to the question, "you will not ask me to make a painful sacrifice." +He looked earnestly at her and added: "I think you'd better call me a +crank and dismiss the subject." + +He expected her to take this as a humorous smoothing of their first +unpleasant ruffle, but if she did she shrewdly deceived him, for she +looked at him with the soberest of inquiry as she asked: + +"Do you really think you are a crank?" + +"I sometimes think so," he answered. + +"Isn't it simply that you take a pride in being different from other +people. Don't you strive to be odd?" + +"Are you talking seriously?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"Well, then, I will say seriously that I do take a pride in being +different from some people?" + +"Am I included?" + +"Oh, nonsense, girl. What are you thinking about?" + +"Oh, I know you don't care for any of us," she whimpered. "You won't +even let mother show her love for you; you try to surround yourself +with a lordly mystery." + +"If I have a mystery it is far from a lordly one." + +"But it's not far from annoying, I can tell you that." + +"Don't try to pick a quarrel, little girl." + +"Oh, I'm not half so anxious to quarrel as you are." + +"All right; if that's the case, we'll get along smoothly. Get your +doll out of the little trunk and let us play with her." + +She got up and stood with her hands resting on the back of the chair. +"If I didn't have to like you, Henry, I wouldn't like you a single +bit. But somehow I can't help it. It must be because I can't +understand you." + +"Then why do you blame me for not making myself plain, since your +regard depends upon the uncertain light in which you see me?" + +"You are so funny," she said. + +"Then you ought to laugh at me instead of scolding." + +"Indeed! But if I didn't scold sometimes you would rim over me; and +besides, we shouldn't have the happiness that comes from making up +again. Really, though, won't you think about what I have said?" + +"I will think about you, and that will include all that you have said +and all that you may say." + +"I oughtn't to kiss you good night, but after that I suppose I must. +There--Mr.--Ungratefulness. Good night." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +THE VERDICT. + + +During the first few weeks of his imprisonment, the murderer of old +man Colton had maintained a lightsome air, but as the time for his +trial drew near he appeared to lose the command of that self-hypnotism +which had seemed to extract gayety from wretchedness. To one who has +been condemned to death there comes a resignation that is deeper than +a philosophy. Despair has killed the nerve that fear exposed, and +nothing is left for terror to feed on. But Brooks had not this +deadened resignation, for he had a hope that he might escape the +gallows, and so long as there is a hope there is an anxiety. He had +refused to see his wife, for he felt that in her heart she had +condemned him and executed the sentence; but he was anxious to see +Witherspoon. He thought that with the aid of that logic which trade +teaches and which in its directness comes near being an intellectual +grace, he could explain himself to the merchant and thereby whiten his +crime, and he sent for him; but the messenger returned with a note +that bore words which Brooks had often heard Witherspoon speak and +which he himself so often had repeated: "Explain to the law." + +The trial came. In the expectancy with which Chicago looks for a new +sensation, Brooks had been almost forgotten by the public. His +confession had robbed his trial of that uncertainty which means +excitement, and there now remained but a formal ceremony, the +appointment of his time to die. The newspapers no longer paid especial +attention to him, and such neglect depresses a murderer, for notoriety +is his last intoxicant. It seemed that an unwarranted length of time +was taken up in the selection of a jury, a deliberation that usually +exposes justice to many dangers; and after this the trial proceeded. +The deposition of Mrs. Colton was introduced. It was a brief +statement, and after leading up to the vital point, thus concluded: "I +must have been asleep some time, when my husband awoke me. He said +that he thought he heard a noise in the vault-room. I listened for a +few moments and replied that I didn't think it was anything. But he +got up and took his pistol from under the pillow and went into the +vault-room. A moment later I was convinced that I heard something, and +I got up, and just as I got near the door the light blazed up and at +the same moment there was a loud report as of a pistol; and then I saw +my husband fall--saw Mr. Brooks wheel about and run out of the room. +This is all I remember until I found myself lying on the bed, unable +to move or speak." + +Brooks set up a plea for mercy, and his lawyers were strong in the +urging of it, but when the judge delivered his charge it was clear +that the plea was not entertained by the court. The jury retired, and +now the courtroom was thronged. To idle men there is a fascination in +the expected verdict, even though it may not admit of the quality of +speculation. The jurymen could not be out long--their duty was well +defined; but an hour passed, and the crowd began gradually to melt +away. Two hours--and word came that the jury could not agree. It was +now dark, and the court was adjourned to meet in evening session. But +midnight struck, and still there was no verdict. What could be the +cause of this indecision? It was a mystery outside, but within the +room it was plain. One man had hung the jury. In his community he was +so well known as a sectarian that he was called a hypocrite. He was +not thought to be strong except in the grasp he held upon bigotry, but +he succeeded in either convincing or browbeating eleven men into an +agreement not to hang Brooks, but to send him to the penitentiary for +life; and this verdict was rendered when the court reassembled at +morning. + +Witherspoon was sitting in his office at the Colossus when Henry +entered. Papers were piled upon the merchant's desk, but he regarded +them not. A boy stood near as if waiting for orders, but Witherspoon +took no heed of him. He sat in a reverie, and as Henry entered he +started as if rudely aroused from sleep. + +"Have you heard the verdict?" Henry asked. + +"By telephone," Witherspoon answered. "Sit down." + +"No, I must get over to the office. What do you think of the verdict?" + +"If the law's satisfied I am," Witherspoon answered. "But you wanted +him hanged, didn't you?" he added. + +"No, but I wanted him punished. The truth is, I hated the fellow +almost from the first." + +Witherspoon turned to the boy and asked: "What do you want? Oh, did I +ring for you? Well, you may go." And then he spoke to Henry: "You +hated him." + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"Because he is a villain." + +"But if you hated him from the first, you hated him before you found +out that he was a villain; and that was snap judgment. I try a man +before I condemn him." + +"And I let a man condemn himself, and some men do this the minute I +see them." + +"But a quick judgment is nearly always wrong." + +"Yes, and yet it's better than a slow judgment that allows itself to +be imposed upon." + +"Sometimes," Witherspoon agreed; and after a short silence he added: +"I was just thinking of how that fellow imposed on me, but I can't +quite get at the cause of my worry over him, and I don't understand +why I should have been afraid that he could ruin me. I want to ask you +something, and I want you to tell me the exact truth without fear of +giving offense: Have you ever thought that at times my mind was +unbalanced? Have you?" + +"You haven't been well, and a sick man's mind is never sound, you +know." + +"That's all true enough; but do I remind you very much of your uncle +Andrew?" + +"Yes, when you worry." + +"I thought so. I've got to stop worrying; and I believe that we have +more control over ourselves than we exercise. Come back at noon and +we'll go out together." + +"I'll be here," Henry replied. + +Just before he reached the office Henry met John Richmond, and +together they stepped into a cigar-store. + +"I've been over to your office," said Richmond. "I have important +business with you." + +"All right, John. Business with you is a pleasure." + +"I think this will be. This is the last day of September, and relying +on my recollection, I know that black bass are about ready to begin +their fall campaign. So I thought we'd better get on a train early +to-morrow morning and go out into Lake County. Now don't say you are +too busy, for _I'm_ running away from a stack of work as high as my +head." + +"I'll go." + +"Good. We'll have a glorious day in the woods. We'll forget Brother +Brooks and the fanatic who saved his life; we'll float on the lake; +well pick up nuts; we'll listen to the controversy of the blue jays, +and the flicker, flicker of the yellowhammers; we'll study Mr. +Woodpecker, whose judgment tells him to go south, but who is held back +by the promising sunshine. The train leaves at eight. I'll be on hand, +and don't you fail." + +"I won't. I'm only too anxious to get out of town." + +Shortly after Henry arrived at the office Miss Drury came into his +room. "Your sister was here just now," she said. + +"Was she?" + +"Yes, she came to wait for the verdict." + +"That reminds me. I intended to telephone, but forgot it." + +"She said she knew you wouldn't think of it." + +"Did you quarrel?" Henry asked. + +"Did we quarrel? Well, now, I like that question. No, we didn't +quarrel. I got along with her quite as well as I do with her brother. +She said that she had often wondered who got up my department, but +that no one had ever told her." + +"She may have wondered, but she never asked. So, you see, I intend to +rid myself of blame even at the expense of my sister." + +"Oh, I suppose she said it merely to put me in good humor with +myself." + +"But wouldn't it have been more in harmony with a woman's character if +she'd given you a sly cut, a tiny stab, to put you in ill humor with +the world?" + +"I hope you don't mean that, Mr. Witherspoon." + +"Why? Would it make you think less of women?" + +"What egotism! No, less of you." + +"Oh, if that's the case I'll withdraw it--will say that I didn't mean +it." + +"That's so kind of you that I'm almost glad you said it." + +She went back to her work, but a few moments later she returned, and +now she appeared to be embarrassed. "You must pardon me," she said. + +"Pardon you? What for?" + +"For speaking so rudely just now. You constantly make me forget that I +am working for you." + +"That's a high compliment. But I didn't notice that you spoke rudely." + +"Yes, I said 'what egotism,' and I'm sorry." + +"You must not be sorry, for if you meant what you said, I deserved +it." + +"Oh, then you really did mean what you said about women." + +Henry laughed. "Miss Drury, don't worry over anything I say; and +remember that I'm pleased whenever you forget that you are working for +me. You didn't know that I was instrumental in the arrest of Brooks, +did you?" + +"Why, no, I never thought of such a thing." + +"You must keep it to yourself, but I was, and why? I hated him. Once +he suggested to me that he would like to have you take lunch with him. +I told him that you didn't go out with any one, and with +coldbloodedness he replied, 'Ah, she hasn't been here long.' I hated +him from that moment. Don't you see what a narrow-minded fellow I am?" + +"Narrow-minded!" + +"Yes, to move the law against a man merely because he had spoken +lightly of--of my friend." + +She was leaning against the door-case and was looking down. She +dropped a paper. Henry glanced at the window, which he called his +loop-hole of freedom, for through it no Colossus could be seen. He +turned slowly and looked toward the door. The girl was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +A DAY OF REST. + + +Early the next morning Henry and Richmond were on a train, speeding +away from the roar, the clang, the turmoil, the smoke, the atmospheric +streams of stench, the trouble of the city. They saw a funeral +procession, and Richmond remarked: "They have killed a drone and are +dragging him out of the hive, and as they have set out so early they +must be going to pay him the compliment of a long haul." They passed +stations where men who had spent a quiet night at home paced up and +down impatiently waiting for a train to whirl them back to their daily +strife. "They play cards going in and coming out," said Richmond, "but +at noon they are eager to cut one another's throats." + +They ran through a forest, dense and wild-looking, but in the wildness +there was a touch of man's deceiving art. They crossed a small river +and caught sight of a barefooted boy trying to steal a boat. They sped +over the prairie and flew past an old Dutch windmill. It was an odd +sight, an un-American glimpse--a wink at a strange land. They +commented on everything that whirled within sight--a bend in the road, +a crooked Line, a tumble-down fence. They were boys. They talked about +names that they held a prejudice against, and occasionally one of them +would say, "No, I don't like a man of that name." + +"There," Richmond spoke up, "I never knew a man of that name that +wasn't a wolf. But sometimes one good fellow offsets a whole +generation of bad names. I never liked the name Witherspoon until I +met you." + +"How do you like DeGolyer?" Henry asked. + +"That's not so had, but it isn't free from political scandal. I rather +like it--strikes me that there might be a pretty good fellow of that +name. Let me see. We'll get off about three miles this side of Lake +Villa and go over to Fourth Lake. The woods over there are beautiful." + +"We should have insisted on McGlenn's coming," said Henry. + +"No," Richmond replied, "the country is a bore to John. Once he came +out with me and found fault with what he termed the loose methods of +nature. I pointed out a hill, and he said that it wasn't so graceful +as a mound in the park. I waved my hand toward a pastoral stretch of +valley, and he said, 'Yes, but it isn't Drexel Boulevard.' Art is the +mistress of John's mind. His emotions are never stirred by a simple +tune, but the climax of an opera tumbles him over and over in ecstasy. +He is one of the truest of friends, and he is as game as a brook +trout. He has associated with drunkards, but was never drunk; and +during his early days in Chicago he lived with gamblers, but he came +out an honorable man." + +"I have been reading his novels," said Henry, "and in places he is as +sharp as broken glass." + +"Yes, but he is too much given to didacticism. Out of mischief I tell +him that he sets up a theory, calls it a character, and talks through +it. But he is strong, and his technique is fine." + +"In Paris he would have been a great man," Henry replied. + +They got off at a milk station and strolled along a road. A piece of +newspaper fluttered on the ground in front of them. + +"There is just enough of a breeze to stir a scandal," said Richmond, +treading upon the paper. + +"When I find a newspaper in an out-of-the-way place," Henry replied, +"I fancy that the world has lost one of its visiting-cards." + +They stopped at a farm-house, engaged a boat, and then went down to +the lake. Nature wore a thoughtful, contemplative smile, and the lake +was a dimple. A flawless day; an Indian summer day, gauzed with a +glowing haze. And the smaller trees, in recognition of this +grape-juice time of year, had adorned themselves in red. October, the +sweetest and mellowest stanza in God Almighty's poem--the dreamy, +lulling lines between hot Summer's passion and Winter's cold severity. +On the train they had been boys, but now they were men, looking at the +tranquil, listening to the immortal. + +"Did you speak?" Henry asked. + +"No," said Richmond, "it was October." + +They floated out on the lake. Mud-hens, in their midsummer fluttering, +had woven the rushes into a Gobelin tapestry. The deep notes of the +old frog were hushed, but in an out-of-the-way nook the youngster was +trying his voice on the water-dog. A dragon-fly lighted on a stake and +flashed a sunbeam from his bedazzled wing; and a bright bug, like a +streak of blue flame, zigzagged his way across the smooth water. + +An hour passed. "They won't bite," said Richmond. "In this pervading +dreaminess they have forgotten their materialism." + +"Probably they are tired of minnows," Henry replied. "Suppose we try +frogs." + +"No, I have sworn never to bait with another frog. It's too much like +patting a human being on a hook. The last frog I used reached up, took +hold of the hook and tried to take it out. No, I can't fish with a +frog." + +"But you would catch a bass, and you know that it must hurt him--in +fact, you know that it's generally fatal." + +"Yes, but it's his rapacity that gets him into trouble. I don't +believe they're going to bite. Suppose we go over yonder and wallow +under that tree." + +"All right. I don't care to catch a fish now anyway. It would be a +disturbance to pull him out. Our trip has already paid us a large +profit. With one exception it has been more than a year since I have +seen anything outside of that monstrous town. As long as the spirit of +the child remains with the man, he loves the country. All children are +fond of the woods--the deep shade holds a mystery." + +They lay on the thick grass under an oak. On one side of the tree was +an old scar, made with an axe, and Henry, pointing to the scar, said: +"To cut down this tree was once the task assigned some lusty young +fellow, but just as he had begun his work, a neighbor came along and +told him that his strong arm was needed by his country; and he put +down his axe and took up a gun." + +"That may be," Richmond replied, "Many a hero has sprung from this +land; these meadows have many times been mowed by men who went away +to reap and who were reaped at Gettysburg." + +After a time they went out in the boat again, and were on the water +when the sun lost its splendor and, hanging low, fired the distant +wood-top. And now there was a hush as if all the universe waited for +the dozing day to sink into sounder sleep. The sun went down, a bird +screamed, and nature began her evening hum. + +In the darkness they lost the path that led through the woods. They +made an adventure of this, and pretended that they might not find +their way out until morning. They wandered about in a laughing +aimlessness, and there was a tone of disappointment in Richmond's +voice when he halted and said, "Here's the road." + +They went to bed in the farmer's spare room, where the subscription +book, flashing without and dull within, lay on the center table. A +plaster-of-paris kitten, once the idol of a child whose son now +doubtless lay in a national burial-ground, looked down from the +mantel-piece. There was the frail rocking-chair that was never +intended to be sat in, and on the wall, in an acorn-studded frame, was +a faded picture entitled "The Return of the Prodigal." + +Richmond was sinking to sleep when Henry called him. + +"What is it?" + +"I didn't know you were asleep." + +"I wasn't. What were you going to say?" + +"Oh, nothing in particular--was just going to ask what you think of a +man who lives a lie?" + +"I should think," Richmond answered, "that he must be a pretty natural +sort of a fellow." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +A MOTHER'S REQUEST. + + +At dinner, the evening after Henry had returned from the country, +Ellen caused her mother to look up by saying that Miss Miller's chance +was gone. + +"What do you mean?" Mrs. Witherspoon asked. "I wasn't aware that Miss +Miller ever had any chance, as you are pleased to term it. But why +hasn't she as much chance now as she ever had?" + +"Because her opportunity has been killed." + +"Was it ever alive?" Henry asked. + +"Oh, yes, but it is dead now. Mother, you ought to see the young woman +I saw at Henry's office the other day. Look, he's trying to blush. Oh, +she's dazzling with her great blue eyes." + +Mrs. Witherspoon's look demanded an explanation. + +"Mother," said Henry, "she means our book-reviewer." + +"I don't like literary women," Mrs. Witherspoon replied, with stress +in the movement of her head and with prejudice in the compression of +her lips. "They are too--too uppish, I may say." + +"But Miss Drury makes no literary pretensions," Henry rejoined. + +"I should think not," Ellen spoke up. "I didn't take her to be +literary, she was so neatly dressed." + +"When you cease so lightly to discuss a noble-minded girl--a friend +of mine--you will do me a great favor," Henry replied. + +"What's all this?" Witherspoon asked. He had paid no attention to this +trifling set-to and had caught merely the last accent of it. + +"Oh, nothing, I'm sure," Ellen answered. + +"Very well, then, we can easily put it aside. Henry, what was it you +said to-day at noon about going away?" + +"I said that I was going with a newspaper excursion to Mexico." + +"Oh, surely, not so far as that!" Mrs. Witherspoon exclaimed. + +"It won't take long, mother." + +"No, but it's so far; and I should think that you've had enough of +that country." + +"I've never been in Mexico." + +"Oh, well, all those countries down there are just the same, and I +should think that when you have seen one your first impression is that +you don't want to see another." + +"They are restful at any rate," he replied. + +"But can't you rest nearer home?" + +"I could, but I have made up my mind to go with this excursion. I'll +not be gone long." + +"When are you going to start?" + +"To-morrow evening." + +"So soon as that?" + +"Yes; I--I didn't decide until to-day." + +"I don't like to have you go so far, but you know best, I suppose. Are +you going out this evening?" she asked. + +"No." + +"Well, I wish to have a talk with you alone. Come to my +sitting-room." + +"With pleasure," he answered. + +He thought that he knew the subject upon which she had chosen to talk; +he saw that she was worried over Miss Drury; but when he had gone into +her room and taken a seat beside her, he was surprised that she began +to speak of Witherspoon's health. + +"I know," she said, "that he is getting stronger, but he needs one +great stimulus--he needs you. Please don't look at me that way." She +took his hand, and it was limp in her warm grasp. "You know that I've +always taken your part." + +"Yes, mother, God bless you." + +"And you know that I wouldn't advise you against your own +interest--you know, my son, that I love you." + +His hand closed upon hers, and his eyes, which for a moment had been +cold and rebellious, now were warm with the light of affection and +obedience. + +"I will do what you ask," he said. + +"God bless you, my son." + +She arose, and hastening to the door, called: "George! oh, George!" + +Witherspoon answered, and a moment later he came into the room. +"George, our son will take his proper place." + +Henry got up, and the merchant caught him by the hand. "You don't know +how strong this makes me!" He rubbed his eyes and continued: "This is +the first time I have seen you in your true light. You are a strong +man--you are not easily influenced. Sit down; I want to look at you. +Yes, you are a strong man, and you will be stronger. I will buy the +Colton interest--the Witherspoons shall be known everywhere. To-morrow +we will make the arrangements." + +"I start for Mexico to-morrow." + +"Yes, but you'll not be gone long. The trip will be good for you. Let +me have a chair," he said. "Thank you," he added, when a chair had +been placed for him. "I am quite beside myself--I see things in a new +light." He sat down, reached over and took Henry's hands; he shoved +himself back and looked at the young man. "Age is coming on, but I'll +see myself reproduced." + +"But not supplanted," Henry said. + +"No, not until the time comes. But the time must come. Ah, after this +life, what then? To be remembered. But what serves this purpose? A +perpetuation of our interests. After you, your son--the man dies, but +the name lives. No one of any sensibility can look calmly on the +extinction of his name." + +He arose with a new ease, and with a vigor that had long been absent +from his step, paced up and down the room. "You will not find it a +sacrifice, my son; it will become a fascination. It is not the love of +money, but the consciousness of force. The lion enjoys his own +strength, but the hare is frightened at his own weakness and runs when +no danger is near. Small tradesmen may be ignorant, but a large +merchant must be wise, for his wisdom has made him large. Trade is the +realization of logic, and success is the fruit of philosophy. People +wonder at the achievements of a man whom they take to be ignorant; but +that man has a secret intelligence somewhere; and if they could +discover it they would imitate him. Don't you permit yourself to feel +that any mental force is too high for business. The statesman is but +a business man. Behind the great general is the nation's backbone, and +that backbone is a financier. Let me see, what time is it?" He looked +at his watch. "Come, we will all go to the theater." + +Witherspoon drove Henry to the railway station the next evening, and +during the drive he talked almost ceaselessly. He complimented Henry +upon the wise slowness with which he had made up his mind; there was +always too much of impulse in a quick decision. He pointed his whip at +a house and said: "A lonely old man lives there; he has built up a +fortune, but his name will be buried with him." He spoke of his +religious views. There must be a hereafter, but in the future state +strength must rule; it was the order of the universe, the will of +nature, the decree of eternity. He talked of the books that he had +read, and then he turned to business. In a commercial transaction +there must be no sentiment; financial credit must be guarded as a +sacred honor. Every debt must be paid; every cent due must be +extracted. It might cause distress, but distress was an inheritance of +life. + +To this talk the young man listened vaguely; he said neither yes nor +no, and his silence was taken for close attention. + +When they arrived at the station, Witherspoon got out of the buggy and +with Henry walked up and down the concrete floor along the iron fence. +It was here that the stranger had wonderingly gazed at the crowd as he +held up young Henry's chain. + +"Are you going through New Orleans?" + +"Yes; will be there one day." + +"You are pretty well acquainted in that town, I suppose." + +"With the streets," Henry answered. + +"I wish I could go with you, but I can't. Next year perhaps I can get +away oftener." + +"Yes, if you have cause to place confidence in me." + +"I have the confidence now; all that remains for you to do is to +become acquainted with the details of your new position." + +"And there the trouble may lie." + +"You underrate yourself. A man who can pick up an education can with a +teacher learn to do almost anything." + +"But when I was a boy there was a pleasure in a lesson because I felt +that I was stealing it." + +The merchant laughed and drew Henry closer to him. "If we may believe +the envious, the quality of theft may not be lacking in your future +work," he said. + +After a short silence Henry remarked: "You say that I am to perpetuate +your name." + +"Yes, surely." + +"I suppose, then, that you claim the right to direct me in my +selection of a wife." + +Again the merchant drew Henry closer to him. "Not to direct, but to +advise," he answered. + +"A rich girl, I presume." + +"A suitable match at least." + +"Suitable to you or to me?" + +"To both--to us all. But we'll think about that after a while." + +"I have thought about it; the girl is penniless." + +"What! I hope you haven't committed yourself." They were farther apart +now. + +"Not by what I have uttered--and she may care nothing for me--but my +actions must have said that I love her." + +"What do you mean by 'love her'?" the merchant angrily demanded. + +"Is it possible that you have forgotten?" + +"Of course not," he said, softening. "Who is she?" + +"A girl whose life has been a devotion--an angel." + +"Bosh! That's all romance. Young man, this is Chicago, and Chicago is +the material end--the culmination of the nineteenth century." + +"And this girl is the culmination of purity and divine womanhood--of +love!" He stopped short, looked at Witherspoon, and said: "If you say +a word against her I will not go into the store--I'll set fire to it +and burn it down." + +They were in a far corner, and now, standing apart, were looking at +each other. The young man's eyes snapped with anger. + +"Come, don't fly off that way," said the merchant. "You may choose for +yourself, of course. Oh, you've got some of the old man's +pigheadedness, have you? All right; it will keep men from running over +you." + +He took Henry's arm, and they walked back toward the gate. + +"I won't say anything to your mother about it." + +"You may do as you like." + +"Well, it's best not to mention it yet a while. Will you sell your +newspaper as soon as you return?" + +"Yes." + +"All right. Then there'll be nothing in the way. Your train's about +ready. Take good care of yourself, and come back rested. Telegraph me +whenever you can. Good-by." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +A MOMENT OF ARROGANCE. + + +Henry wandered through the old familiar streets. How vividly came back +the years, the dreary long ago! Here, on a door-step, he had passed +many a nodding hour, kept in half-consciousness by the clank of the +printing-press, waiting for the dawn and his bundle of newspapers. No +change had come to soften the truth of the picture that a by-gone +wretchedness threw upon his memory. The attractive fades, but how +eternal is the desolate! Yonder he could see the damp wall where he +used to hunt for snails, and farther down the narrow street was the +house in which had lived the old Italian woman. "You think I'm a +stranger," he mused, as he passed a policeman, "but I know all this. I +have been in dens here that you have never seen." + +He went to the Foundlings' Home and walked up and down in front of the +long, low building. An old woman, dragging a rocking-chair, came out +on the veranda and sat down. He halted at the gate, stood for a moment +and then rang the bell. A negro opened the gate and politely invited +him to enter. The old woman arose as he came up the steps. + +"Keep your seat, madam." + +"Did you want to see anybody?" she asked. + +"No; and don't let me disturb you." + +He gave her a closer look and thought that he remembered her as the +woman who had taken him on her lap and told him that his father was +dead. + +"No disturbance at all," she answered. "Is there anything I can do for +you?" + +"Yes, I should like to look through this place." + +"Very well, but you may find things pretty badly tumbled up. We're +cleaning house. Come this way, please." + +He saw the corner in which he used to sleep, and there was the same +iron bedstead, with a fever-fretted child lying upon it. He thought of +the nights when he had cried himself to sleep, and of the mornings +when he lay there weaving his fancies while a spider high above the +window was spinning his web. There was the same old smell, and he +sniffed the sorrow of his childhood. + +"How long has this been here?" he asked. + +"He was brought here about two weeks ago." + +"I mean the bedstead. How long has it been in this corner?" + +"Oh, I can't say as to that. I thought you meant the child. I've been +here a long time, and I never saw the bedstead anywhere else. It will +soon be thirty years since I came here. Do you care to go into any of +the other rooms?" + +"No, thank you." + +They returned to the veranda. "Won't you sit down?" the old woman +asked. + +"No, I've but a few moments to stay. By the way, some time ago I met a +man who said that he had lived here when a child. I was trying to +think of his name. Oh, it was a man named Henry DeGolyer, I believe. +Do you remember him?" + +"Yes, but it was a long time ago. I heard somebody say that he lived +in the city here, but he never came out to see us. Oh, yes, I remember +him. He was a stupid little thing, but that didn't keep him from being +mean. He oughtn't to have been taken in here, for he had a father." + +"Did you know his father?" + +"Who? John DeGolyer? I reckon I did, and he wa'n't no manner account, +nuther. He had sense enough, but he throw himself away with liquor. He +painted a picture of my youngest sister, and everybody said that it +favored her mightily, but John wa'n't no manner account." + +"Do you remember his wife?" + +"Not much. He married a young creature down the river and broke her +heart, folks said." + +"Did you ever see her?" + +His voice had suddenly changed, and the old woman looked sharply at +him. + +"Yes, several times. She was a tall, frail, black-eyed creature, and +she might have done well if she hadn't ever met John DeGolyer. But +won't you sit down?" + +"No, thank you, I'm going now. You are the matron, I presume." + +"Yes, sir--have been now for I hardly know how long." + +"If I send some presents to the children will you see that they are +properly distributed?" + +"Yes, but for goodness' sake don't send any drums or horns." + +"I won't. How many boys have you?" + +"Well, we've got a good many, I can tell you. You see, this isn't a +regular foundlings' home. We take up poor children from most, +everywhere. We've got ninety-three boys." + +And how many girls?" + +"We've got a good many of them, too, I can tell you. +Seventy-odd--seventy-five, I think." + +"All right. Now don't forget your promise. Good day, madam." + +He went to a large toy-shop and began to buy in a way that appeared +likely to exhaust the stock. + +"Where do you live?" asked the proprietor of the shop. + +"In Chicago." + +"What, you ain't going to ship these toys there and try to make +anything on them, are you?" + +"No; I want them sent out to the Foundlings' Home. What's your bill?" + +The man figured up four hundred and ten dollars. "Come with me to the +bank," said Henry. + +"Nearly all you Chicago men are rich," remarked the toy merchant as +they walked along. "I've had a notion to sell out and move there +myself. Chicago's reaching out after everything, and New Orleans is +doing more and more trading with her every year. I bought a good many +of these toys from a Chicago drummer. He sells everything--represents +a concern called the Colossus." + +Henry settled for the toys, and then continued his stroll about the +city. A strange sadness depressed him. The old woman's words--"and +broke her heart, folks said"--rang in his ears. Had he been born as a +mere incident of nature, or was it intended that he should achieve +something? Was he an accident or was he designed? When he thought of +his mother, his heart bled; but to think of his father made it beat +with anger. When he became a member of the Witherspoon family, his +conscience had constantly plied him with questions until, worn with +self-argument, he resolved to accept a part of the advantages that +were thrust upon him. Why not all? What sense had he shown in his +obstinacy? What honor had he served? Why should he desire to reserve a +part of a former self? Fortune had not favored his birth, but accident +had thrown him in the way to be rich and therefore powerful. Accident! +What could be more of an accident than life itself? Then came the last +sting. The woman whom he loved, should she become his wife, would +never know her name; his children--but how vain and foolish was such a +questioning. Was his name worth preserving? Should he not rejoice in +the thought that he had thrown it off? He stopped on a corner and +stood in an old doorway, where he had blacked shoes. "George +Witherspoon is right, and I have been a fool," he said. "Nature +despises the weak. I will be rich--I am rich." + +There was no half-heartedness now. His manner changed; there was +arrogance in his step. Rich--powerful! The world had been his enemy +and he had blacked its shoes. Now it should be his servant, and with a +lordly contempt he would tip it for its services. + +He turned into a restaurant, and in a masterful and overbearing way +ordered his dinner. He looked at a man and mused: "He puts on airs, +the fool! I could buy him." + +Several men who had been sitting at a table got up to go out. One of +them pointed at a ragged fellow who, some distance back, was down on +his knees scrubbing the floor. "Zeb, see that man?" + +"What man?" + +"The one scrubbing the floor." + +"That isn't a man--it's a thing. What of it?" + +"Nothing, only he used to be one of the brightest newspaper writers in +this city." + +Henry looked up. + +"Yes--used to write some great stuff, they say." + +"What's his name?" + +"Henry DeGolyer." + +Henry sprang to his feet. He put out his hands, for the room began to +swim round. He looked toward the door, but the men were gone. A waiter +ran to him and caught him by the arm. "Sit down here, sir." + +"No; get away." + +He steadied himself against the wall. The ragged man looked up, moved +his bucket of water, dipped his mop-rag into it and went on with his +work. Henry took a stop forward, and then felt for the wall again. A +death-like paleness had overspread his face, and he appeared vainly to +be trying to shut his staring and expressionless eyes. The waiter took +hold of his arm again. + +"Never mind. I'm all right." + +There were no customers in the room. The scrub-man came nearer. +Shudder after shudder, seeming to come in waves, passed over Henry, +but suddenly he became calm, and slowly he walked toward the rear end +of the room. The scrub-man moved forward and was at Henry's feet. He +reached down and took hold of the man's arm--took the rag out of his +hand. The man looked up. There could be no mistake. He was Henry +Witherspoon. + +"Don't you know me?" DeGolyer asked. + +The man snatched the rag and began again to scrub the floor. + +DeGolyer took hold of his arm. "Get up," he commanded, and the man +obeyed as if frightened. + +"Don't you know me?" + +"No." + +"Don't you remember Hank?" + +"I'm Hank," the man answered. + +"No," said DeGolyer, with a sob, "you are Henry, and I am Hank." + +"No, Henry's dead--I'm Hank." He dropped on his knees again and began +to scrub the floor. + +Just then the proprietor came in. "What's the trouble?" he asked. +"Why, mister, don't pay any attention to that poor fellow. There's no +harm in him." + +"No one knows that better than I," DeGolyer answered. "How long has he +been here--where did he come from?" + +"He came off a ship. The cap'n said that he couldn't use him and asked +me to take him. Been here about five months, I think. They say he used +to amount to something, but he's gone up here," he added, tapping his +head. + +"What's the captain's name--where can I find him?" + +"His ship's in now, I think. Go down to the levee and ask for the +cap'n of the Creole." + +"I will, but first let me tell you that I have come for this man. I +know his father. I'll get back as soon as I can." + +"All right. And if you can do anything for this poor fellow you are +welcome to, for he's not much use round here." + +DeGolyer snatched his hat and rushed out into the street. Not a hack +was in sight; he could not wait for a car, and he hastened toward the +river. He began to run, and a boy cried: "Sick him, Tige." He stopped +suddenly and put his hand to his head. "Have I lost my mind?" he asked +himself. + +"Well, here we are again," some one said. DeGolyer looked round and +recognized the railroad man who had charge of the excursion. + +"I'm glad I met you," DeGolyer replied. "It saves hunting you up." + +"Why, what's the matter? Are you sick?" + +"No, I'm all right, but something has occurred that compels me to +return at once to Chicago." + +"Nothing serious, I hope." + +"No, but it demands my immediate return. I'm sorry, but it can't be +helped. Good-by." + +Again he started toward the river. He upset an old woman's basket of +fruit. She cried out at him, and be saw that she could scarcely totter +after the rolling oranges. He halted and picked them up for her. She +mumbled something; she appeared to be a hundred years old. As he was +putting the fruit into the basket, she struck a note in her mumbling +that caused him to look her full in the face. He dropped the oranges +and sprang back. She was the hag that had taken him from the +Foundlings' Home. He hurried onward. "Great God!" he inwardly cried, +"I am covered with the slime of the past." + +Without difficulty he found the captain of the Creole. "I don't know +very much about the poor fellow," he said. "I run across him nearly +six months ago fit a little place called Dura, on the coast of Costa +Rica. He was working about a sort of hotel, scrubbing and taking care +of the horses; and I guess I shouldn't have paid any attention to him +if I hadn't heard somebody say that he was an American; and it struck +me as rather out of place that an American should be scrubbing round +for those fellows, and I began to inquire about him. The landlord said +that he was brought there sick, a good while ago, and was left for +dead, but just as they were about to bury him he came to, and got up +again after a few weeks. A priest told me that his name was Henry +DeGolyer, and I said that it didn't make any difference what his name +might be, I was going to take him back to the United States, so that +if he had to clean out stables and scrub he might do it for white +folks at least; for I am a down-east Yankee, and I haven't any too +much respect for those fellows. Well, I brought him to New Orleans. I +couldn't do much for him, being a poor man myself, but I got him a +place in a restaurant, where he could get enough to eat, anyhow. I've +since heard that he used to be a newspaper man, but this was disputed. +Some people said that the newspaper DeGolyer was a black-haired +fellow. But that didn't make any difference--I did the best I could." + +"And you shall he more than paid for your trouble," said DeGolyer. + +"Well, we won't argue about that. If you've got any money to spare +you'd better give it to him." + +"What is your name?" + +"Atkins--just Cap'n Atkins." + +"Where do you get your mail?" + +"Well, I don't get any to speak of. A letter sent in care of the +wharfmaster will reach me all right." + +DeGolyer got into a hack and was rapidly driven to the restaurant. +Young Witherspoon had completed his work and was in the kitchen, +sitting on a box with a dirty-looking bundle lying beside him. + +"Come, Henry," DeGolyer said, taking his arm. + +"No; not Henry--Hank. Henry's dead." + +"Come, my boy." + +Witherspoon looked up, and closing his eyes, pressed the tips of his +fingers against them. + +"My boy." + +"He got up and turned to go with DeGolyer, who held his arm, but +perceiving that he had left his bundle, pulled back and made an effort +to reach it. + +"No, we don't want that," said DeGolyer. + +"Yes, clothes." + +"No, we'll get better clothes. Come on." + +DeGolyer took him to a Turkish bath, to a barbershop, and then to a +clothing store. It was now evening and nearly time to take the train +for Chicago. They drove to the hotel and then to the railway station. + +The homeward journey was begun, and the wheels kept on repeating: "A +father and a mother and a sister, too." DeGolyer did not permit +himself to think. His mind had a thousand quickenings, but he killed +them. Young Witherspoon looked in awe at the luxury of the +sleeping-car; he gazed at the floor as if he wondered how it could be +scrubbed. At first he refused to sit on the showy plush, and even +after DeGolyer's soothing and affectionate words had relieved his fear +of giving offense, he jumped to his feet when the porter came through +the car, and in a trembling fright begged his companion to protect +him against the anger of the head waiter. + +"Sit down, my dear boy. He is not a head waiter--he is your servant." + +"Is he?" + +"Yes, and must wait on you." + +At this he doubtfully shook his head, and he continued to watch the +porter until assured that he was not offended, and then timidly +offered to shake hands with him. + +When bed-time came young Witherspoon refused to take off his clothes. +He was afraid that some one might steal them, and no argument served +to reassure him; and even after he had lain down, with his clothes on, +he took off a red neck-tie which he had insisted upon wearing, and for +greater security put it into his pocket. DeGolyer lay beside him, and +for a time Witherspoon was quiet, but suddenly he rose up and began to +mutter. + +"What's the matter, Henry?" + +"Not Henry--Hank. Henry's dead." + +"Well, what's the matter, Hank?" + +"Want my hat." + +"It's up there. We'll get it in the morning." + +"Want it now." + +DeGolyer got his hat for him, and he lay with it on his breast. How +dragging a night it was! Would the train never run from under the +darkness out into the light of day? And sometimes, when the train +stopped, DeGolyer fancied that it had run ahead of night and +perversely was waiting for the darkness to catch up. The end was +coming, and what an end it might be! + +The day was dark and rainy; the landscape was a flat dreariness. A +buzzard flapped his heavy wings and flew from a dead tree; a yelping +dog ran after the train; a horse, turned out to die, stumbled along a +stumpy road. + +It was evening when the train reached Chicago. DeGolyer and young +Witherspoon took a cab and were driven to a hospital. The case was +explained to the physician in charge. He said that the mental trouble +might not be due to any permanent derangement of the brain; it was +evident that he had not been treated properly. The patient's nervous +system was badly shattered. The case was by no means hopeless. He +could not determine the length of time it might require to restore him +to physical health, which meant, he thought, a mental cure as well. + +"Three months?" DeGolyer asked. + +"That long, at least." + +"I will leave him with you, and I urge you not to stop short of the +highest medical skill that can be procured in either this country or +in Europe. As to who this young man is or may turn out to be, that +must be kept as a secret. I will call every day. Henry"-- + +"Hank." + +"All right, Hank. Now, I'm going to leave you here, but I'll be back +soon." + +"No; they'll steal my clothes!" he cried, in alarm. + +"No, they won't; they'll give you more clothes. You stay here, and I +will bring you something when I come back." + +DeGolyer went to a hotel. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +A MOST PECULIAR FELLOW. + + +Early the next morning George Witherspoon was pacing the sidewalk in +front of his house when DeGolyer came up. The merchant was startled. + +"Why, where did you come from!" he exclaimed. + +"I thought it best to get back as soon as possible," DeGolyer +answered, shaking hands with him. "The truth is, I met a man who +caused me to change my plans. He wants to buy my paper, and so I came +back with him." + +"Good enough, my dear boy. We'll go down immediately after breakfast +and close with him one way or another. I am delighted, I assure you. +Why, I missed you every minute of the time. See how I have already +begun to rely on you? I haven't said a word to your mother about that +angel. Hah, you'd burn down the Colossus, would you? Why, bless my +life, you rascal." + +"Who is that?" Ellen cried as they entered the hall; and with an airy, +early-morning grace she came running down the stairway. "Oh, nobody +can place any confidence in what you say," she declared, kissing him. +"Goodness alive, man, you look as if you hadn't slept a wink since you +left home." Just then Mrs. Witherspoon came out of the dining-room. +"Mother," Ellen called, "here's one of your mother's people, and he's +darker than ever." + +Mrs. Witherspoon fondly kissed him before she gave Ellen the usual +look of gentle reproach. "You must have known how much we missed you, +my son, and that is the reason you came home. And you're just in time +for breakfast. Ellen, _will_ you please get out of the way? And what +do you mean by saying that he's darker than ever?" Here she gave +DeGolyer an anxious look. "But you are not ill, are you, my son?" + +"Ill!" Witherspoon repeated, with resentment. "Of course he's not ill. +What do you mean by ill? Do you expect a man to travel a thousand +miles and then look like a rose? Is breakfast ready? Well, come then. +We've got business to attend to." + +"Now, as to this man who wants to buy my paper," said DeGolyer, when +they were seated at the table, "let me tell you that he is a most +peculiar fellow, and if he finds that I am anxious to sell, he'll back +out. Therefore I don't think you'd better see him, father." + +"Nonsense, my dear boy; I can make him buy in three minutes." + +"That may be, but you might scare him off in one minute. He's an +old-maidish sort of fellow, and is easily frightened. You'd better let +me work him." + +"All right, but don't haggle. There are transactions in which men are +bettered by being beaten, and this is one of them." + +"Yes, but it isn't well to let eagerness rush you into a folly." + +"Ah, but in this affair folly was at the other end--at the buying." + +"Then, with a wise sale, let us correct that folly." + +"All right, but without haggling. When are you to meet this man +again?" + +"At noon." + +"And when shall I see you?" + +"Immediately after the deal is closed." + +On DeGolyer's part the day was spent in the spinning of the threads of +excuses. He might explain a week's delay, but how was he to account +for a three months' put-off? And if at the end of that time young +Witherspoon's case should be pronounced hopeless what course was then +to be taken? + +He did not see George Witherspoon again until dinner-time. The +merchant met him with a quick inquiry. "We will discuss it in the +library, father," DeGolyer answered. + +"But can't you tell me now whether or not it has come out all right?" + +"I think it's all right, but you may not. But let as wait until after +dinner." + +When they went into the library Witherspoon hastily lighted his cigar, +and sat down in his leather-covered chair. "Well, how did it come +out?" he asked. + +DeGolyer did not sit down. Evidently he expected to remain in the room +but a short time. + +"I told you that he was a very peculiar fellow." + +"Yes, I know that. What did you do with him?" + +"Well, the deal isn't closed yet. He wants to go into the office and +work three months before he decides." + +"Tell him to go to the devil!" Witherspoon exclaimed. + +"No, I can't do that." + +"Why can't you? Do you belong to him? Have you a consideration for +everybody but me?" + +"I very nearly belong to him." + +"You very nearly belong to him!" Witherspoon cried. "What in the name +of God do you mean? Have you lost your senses?" + +"My senses are all right, but my situation is peculiar." + +"I should think so. Henry, I don't want to fly all to pieces. Lately, +and with your help, I have pulled myself strongly together, and now I +beg of you not to pull me apart." + +"Father, some time ago you said that we have more control over +ourselves than we exercise; and now I ask you to exert a little of +that control. The sense of obligation has always been strong in me, +and I feel that it is largely developed in you. I said that I very +nearly belonged to this man, and I will tell you why; and don't be +impatient, but listen to me for a few minutes. A number of years ago +uncle left me in New Orleans and went on one of his trips to South +America. He had not been gone long when yellow fever broke out. It was +unusually fatal, and the city, though long accustomed to the disease, +was panic-stricken. I was one of the early victims. Every member of +the family I boarded with died within a week, and I was left in the +house alone. This man, this peculiar fellow, Nat Parker, found me, +took charge of me and did not leave me until I was out of danger. Of +course, there was no way to reward him--you can merely stammer your +gratitude to the man who has saved your life. He told me that the time +might come when I could do him a good turn. Well, I met him the other +day in New Orleans, and I incidentally spoke of my intention to sell +my paper. He said that he would buy it. I told him that I would make +him a present of it, but he resentfully replied that he was not a +beggar. I came back with him to Chicago, and afraid that any +interference might offend him, I told you that you should have +nothing to do with the transaction. He has an ambition to become known +as a newspaper man, and he foolishly believes that I am a great +journalist. So he declares that for three months he must serve under +me. What could I say? Could I tell him that I would dispose of the +paper to some one else? I was compelled to accept his terms. I +insisted that he should live with us during the time, but he objected. +He swore that he must not be introduced to any of my people--to be +petted like a dog that has saved a child's life. And there's the +situation." + +Witherspoon's cigar had fallen to the floor. Some time elapsed before +he spoke, and when he did speak there was an unnatural softness in his +voice. "Strange story," he said. "No wonder you are peculiar when you +have been thrown among such peculiar people. If your friend were a +sane man, we could deal with him in a sensible manner, but as he is +not we must let him have his way. But suppose that at the end of three +months he is tired of the paper?" + +"I will sell it or give it away. But there'll be no trouble about +that. It's a valuable piece of property, and I will swear to you that +if at the end of that time Henry Witherspoon does not go into the +Colossus with his father, it will be the father who keeps him out. Now +promise me that you won't worry." + +Witherspoon got up and took Henry's hand. "You have done the best you +could, my son. It is peculiar and unbusinesslike, but we can't help +that." + +"Will you explain to mother?" + +"Yes, but the more I look at it the stranger it seems. I don't know, +however, that it is so strange after all. He is simply a chivalrous +crank of the South, and we must humor him. But I'll be glad when all +this nonsense is over." + +DeGolyer sat in his room, smoking his pipe. He looked at his +reflection in the mirror, and said: "Oh, what a liar you are! But your +day for truth is coming." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +THE TIME WAS DRAWING NEAR. + + +One morning, when DeGolyer called at the hospital, young Witherspoon +said to him: "You are Hank, and I'm Henry." And this was the first +indication that his mind was regaining its health. + +Every day George Witherspoon would ask: "Well, how's your peculiar +friend getting along?" And one evening, when he made this inquiry, +DeGolyer answered: "He is so much pleased that he doesn't think it +will take him quite three months to decide." + +"Good enough, but why doesn't he decide now?" + +"Because it would hardly be in keeping with his peculiar methods. I +haven't questioned him, but occasionally he drops a hint that leads me +to believe that he's satisfied." + +DeGolyer was once tempted to tell Richmond and McGlenn that he was +feeling his way through a part that had been put upon him, but with +this impulse came a restraining thought--the play was not yet done. +They were at luncheon, and McGlenn had declared that DeGolyer was +sometimes strangely inconsistent. + +"I admit that I am, John, and with an explanation I could make you +stare at me." + +"Then let us have the explanation. Man was made to stare as well as to +mourn." + +"No, not now; but it will come one of these days, though perhaps not +directly from me." + +"Ah, you have killed a mysterious lion and made a riddle; but where +is the honey you found in the carcass? Give us the explanation." + +"Not now. But one of these bleak Chicago days you and Richmond will +sit in the club, watch the whirling snow and discuss me, and you both +will say that you always thought there was something strange about +me." + +"And we do," McGlenn replied. "Here's a millionaire's son, and he has +chosen toil instead of ease. Isn't that an anomaly, and isn't such an +anomaly a strange thing? But will the outcome of that vague something +cause us to hold you at a cooler length from us--will that 'I told you +so' result in your banishment? Shall we send a Roger Williams over the +hills?" + +"John, what are you trying to get at?" Richmond asked. + +McGlenn looked serenely at him. "Have you devoured your usual quota of +pickles? If so, writhe in your misery until I have dined." + +"I writhe, not with what I have eaten, but at what I see. Is there a +more distressing sight than an epicure--or a gourmand, rather--with a +ragged purse?" + +"Oh, yes; a stuffer, a glutton without a purse." + +Richmond laughed. "Hunger may force a man to apparent gluttony," he +said, "and a sandbagger may have taken his purse; and all on his part +is honesty. But there is pretense--which I hold is not honest--in an +effort to be an epicure." + +"Ah, which you hold is not honest. A most rare but truthful avowal, +since nothing you hold is honest." + +"In my willingness to help the weak," Richmond replied, "I have held +your overcoat while you put it on." + +"And it was not an honest covering until you took your hands off." + +"Neither did it cover honesty until some other man put it on by +mistake," Richmond rejoined. + +DeGolyer went to his office, and Richmond and McGlenn, wrangling as +they walked along, betook themselves to the Press Club. "I tell you," +said McGlenn, as they were going up the stairs, "that he needs our +sympathy. He has suffered, but having suffered, he is great." + +Thus the weeks were sprinkled with light incidents, and thus the days +dripped into the past--and a designated future was drawing near. + +"Well," Witherspoon remarked one Sunday morning, "the time set by your +insane friend will soon be up." + +"Yes, within a week," DeGolyer replied. + +"I should think that he is more in need of apartments in an asylum +than of a newspaper; but if he thinks he knows his business, all +right; we have nothing to say. What has he agreed to give for the +paper?" + +"No price has been fixed, but there'll be no trouble about that." + +"I hope not." + +"Did you understand mother and Ellen to say they were going out +shopping to-morrow afternoon?" DeGolyer asked. + +"Yes, but what of it?" + +"There's this of it: If they decide to go, I want you to meet me here +at three o'clock." + +"Why can't you meet me at the store?" + +"Don't I tell you that my friend is peculiar?" + +"Oh, it's to meet him, eh? All right, I'll be here." + +His play was nearing the end. To-morrow he must snatch "the make-up" +off his face. He felt a sadness that was more than half a joy. He +should be free; he should be honest, and being honest, he could summon +that most sterling of all strength, a manly self-respect. He had +thought himself strong, but had found himself weak. The love of money, +which at first had seemed so gross, at last had conquered him. This +thought did not sting him now; it softened him, made him look with a +more forgiving eye upon tempted human nature. But was it money that +had tempted him to turn from a purpose so resolutely formed? Had not +Witherspoon's argument and Ellen's persuasion left him determined to +reserve one refuge for his mind--one closet wherein he could hang the +cast-off garment of real self? Then it was the appeal of that gentle +woman whom he called mother; it was not money. But after yielding to +the mother he had found himself without a prop, and at last he had +felt a contempt for a moderate income and had boasted to himself that +he could buy a man. And for this he reproached himself. How grim was +that something known as fate, how mockingly did it play with the +children of men, and in that mockery how cold a justice! But he should +be free, and that thought thrilled him. + +In the afternoon he went over to the North Side, and along a modest +street he walked, looking at the houses as if hunting for a number. He +went up a short flight of wooden steps and rang the bell of the second +flat. The hall door was open, and a moment later he saw Miss Drury at +the head of the stairs. + +"Why, is that you, Mr. Witherspoon?" + +"Yes; may I come up?" + +"What a question! Of course you may, especially as I am as lonesome +as I can be." + +He was shown into a neat sitting-room, where a canary bird "fluttered" +his hanging cage up and down. A rose was pinned on one of the white +curtains. The room was warmed by a stove, and through the isinglass +the playful flame could be seen. She brought a "tidied" rocking-chair, +and smiling in her welcome, said that as this was his first visit, she +must make him comfortable. "Don't you see," she added, "that you +constantly make me forget that I am working for you?" + +"And don't you know," he answered, "that you are most pleasing when +you do forget it? But I am to infer that you wouldn't give me the +rocking-chair if you didn't forget that you were working for me?" + +"You must infer nothing," she said. "But am I most pleasing when I +forget? Then I will not remember again. It is a woman's duty to be +pleasing; and her advantage, too, for when she ceases to please she +loses many of her privileges." + +DeGolyer went to the window, took the rose, brought it to her and +said: "Put this in your hair." + +She looked up as she took the rose; their eyes met and for a moment +they lived in the promise of a delirious bliss. She looked down as she +was putting the flower in her hair. He spoke an idle word that meant +more than old Wisdom's speech, and she answered with a laugh that was +nearly a sob. He thirsted to take her in his arms, to tell her of his +love, but his time was not yet come--he was still Henry Witherspoon. + +"How have you spent the day?" she asked. + +"I'm thinking of to-morrow." + +"And will to-morrow be so important?" + +"Yes, the most important day of my life." + +"Oh, tell me about it." + +"I will to-morrow." + +"Well, I suppose I shall have to wait, but I wish you would tell me +just a little bit of it." + +"To tell a little would be to tell all. The story is not yet +complete." + +"Oh, is it a story? And is it one that you are writing?" + +"No, one that I am living. It is a strange tale." + +"I know it must be interesting, but what has to-morrow to do with it?" + +"It will be completed then." + +"I don't understand you; I never did. I've often thought you the +saddest man I have ever seen, and I've wondered why. You ought not to +be sad--fortune is surely a friend of yours. You live in a grand +house, and your father is a power in this great community. All the +advantages of this life are within your reach; and if you can find +cause to be sad, what must be the condition of people who have to +struggle in order to live!" + +"The summing-up of what you say means that I ought to be thankful." + +"Yes, you were stolen, it is true, but you were restored, and +therefore, by contrast and out of gratitude, you should be happier +than if you had never been taken away." + +"All that is true so far as it _is_ true," he replied. "And let me say +that I'm not so sad as you suppose. Do you care if I smoke here?" + +"Not at all." + +He lighted a cigar and sat smoking in silence. A boy shouted in the +hall, a dog barked, and a cat sprang up from a doze under a table, +looked toward the door, gave himself a humping stretch, and then lay +down again. + +Whenever DeGolyer looked at the girl, a new expression, the rosy tinge +of a strange confusion, flew to her countenance. His talk evoked a +self-possessed reply, but over his silence an embarrassment was +brooding. She seemed to be in fear of something that sweetly she +expected. + +"I may not be at the office to-morrow until evening, but will you wait +for me?" + +"Yes." + +"And when I come, I'll be myself." + +"Be yourself? Who are you now?" + +"Another man." + +"Oh, then I shall be glad to see you." + +"I don't know as to that. You may have strong objections to my real +self." + +"You are _so_ mysterious." + +"To-day, yes; to-morrow, no." + +He was leaning back, blowing rings of smoke, and was looking up at +them. + +"Perhaps I shouldn't say it," she said, "but during the last three +months you have appeared stranger than ever." + +"Yes," he drawlingly replied, "for during the last three months it was +natural that I should be stranger than ever." + +"I do wish I knew what you mean." + +"And when you have been told you may wish you had never known." + +"Is it so bad as that?" + +"Worse." + +"Worse than what?" + +"Than anything you imagine." + +"Oh, you are simply trying to tease me, Mr. Witherspoon." + +"Do you think so? Then we'll say no more about it." + +"Oh, but that's worse than ever. Well, I don't care; I can wait." + +They talked on subjects in which neither of them was interested, but +sympathy was in their voices. Gradually--yes, now it seemed for +months--they had been floating toward that fern-covered island in the +river of life where a thoughtless word comes back with an echo of +love; where the tongue may be silly, but where the eye holds a +redeemed soul, returned from God to gaze upon the only remembered +rapture of this earth. + +She went with him to the head of the stairway. "Don't leave the office +before I come," he called, looking back at her. + +"You know I won't," she answered. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +TOLD HIM A STORY. + + +At the appointed time, the next day, George Witherspoon was waiting in +his library. DeGolyer came in a cab, and when he got out, he told the +driver to wait. + +"Where is your friend?" Witherspoon asked as DeGolyer entered the +room. + +"He'll be here within a few minutes." + +"Confound him, I'm getting sick of his peculiarities." + +The merchant sat down; DeGolyer stood on the hearth-rug. The time was +come, and he had been strong, but now a shiver crept over him. + +"My friend told me a singular story to-day." + +"I don't doubt it; and if his stories are as singular as he is, they +must he marvelous." + +"This story _is_ marvelous, and I think it would interest you. I will +give it to you briefly. There were two young men in a foreign +country"-- + +"I wish he was in a foreign country. I can't wait here all day." + +"He'll be here soon. These two friends were on their way to the sea +coast, and here's where it will strike you. One of them had been +stolen when he was a child, and was now going back to his parents. But +before they reached the coast, the rich man's son--as we'll call the +one who had been stolen--was stricken with a fever. No ship was in +port, and his friend took him to a hotel and got a doctor for him." + +"Wish you'd hand me a match," said Witherspoon. "My cigar's out. Thank +you." + +"Got a doctor for him, but he grew worse. Sometimes he was delirious, +but at times his mind was strangely clear; and once, when he was +rational, he told his friend that he was going to die. He didn't +appear to care very much so far as it concerned himself, but the +thought of the grief that his death would cause his parents seemed to +lie as a cold weight upon his mind. And it was then that he made a +most peculiar request. He compelled his friend to promise to take his +name; to go to his home; to be a son to his father and mother. His +friend begged, but had to yield. Well, the rich man's son died, we'll +suppose, and the poor fellow took his name on the spot. He had to +leave hurriedly, for a father and a mother and a sister were waiting +in a distant home. A ship that had just come was ready to sail, and a +month might pass before the landing of another vessel. He went to +these people as their son"-- + +"Oh, yes," said Witherspoon, "and fell in love with the sister, and +then had to tell his story." + +"No, he didn't. He loved the girl, but only as a brother should. He +was not wholly acceptable to his father, but"-- + +"Ah, that's all very well," said Witherspoon, "but what proof had he?" + +DeGolyer met Witherspoon's careless look and held it with a firm gaze. +And slowly raising his hand, he said: "He held up a gold chain." + +Witherspoon sprang to his feet and exclaimed: "My God, he's crazy!" + +"Wait!" + +The merchant had turned toward the door. He halted and looked back. + +"George Witherspoon"-- + +"I thought so--crazy. Merciful God, he's mad!" + +"Will you listen to me for a moment--just a moment--and I will prove +to you that I'm not crazy. I am not your son--my name is Henry +DeGolyer. Wait, I tell you!" Witherspoon had staggered against the +door-case. "I am not your son, but your son is not dead. I took his +place; I thought it a promise made to a dying man." + +"What!" he whispered. His voice was gone. "You--you"-- + +DeGolyer ran to him and eased him into his chair. "Your son is here, +and the man who has brought nothing but ill luck will leave you. I +tried to soften this, but couldn't," Witherspoon's head shook as he +looked up at him. "Wait a moment, and I will call him. No, don't get +up." + +DeGolyer hastened to the front door, and standing on the steps, he +called: "Henry! oh, Henry!" + +"All right, Hank." + +Young Witherspoon got out of the cab and came up the steps. + +"He is waiting for you, Henry." And speaking to the footman, DeGolyer +added: "There's nothing the matter. Send those girls about their +business." + +Young Witherspoon followed DeGolyer into the library. The merchant was +standing with his shaky hands on the back of a chair. He stepped +forward and tried to speak, but failed. + +"I'm your son. Hank did as I told him. It's all right. I've had a +fever--he's going to fall, Hank!" + +They eased him down into his leather-covered chair. + +"I see it now," the old man muttered. "Yes, I can see it. Come here." + +The young man leaned over and put his arms about his father's neck. "I +will go into the store with you when I get just a little stronger--I +will do anything you want me to. I've had an awful time--awful--but +it's all right now. Hank found me in New Orleans, scrubbing a floor; +but it's all right now." + +"I'll get him some brandy," said DeGolyer. + +"No," Witherspoon objected, "I'll be myself in a minute. Never was so +shocked in my life. Who ever heard of such a thing? Of course you +couldn't soften it. Let me look at you, my son. How do I know what to +believe? No, there's no mistake now." + +He got up, and holding the young man's hands, stood looking at him. +"Who's that?" he asked. + +They heard voices. Mrs. Witherspoon and Ellen were coming down the +hall. DeGolyer stepped hastily to the door. + +"Oh, what are you doing here?" Ellen cried. "I saw somebody--Miss +Miller. She didn't say so, but I know that she wants me to kiss you +for her, and I will." + +"Ellen!" Witherspoon exclaimed, and just then she saw that a stranger +was present. + +"Excuse me," she said. + +DeGolyer took her by the hand, and as Mrs. Witherspoon came up he held +out his other hand to her. He led them both to the threshold of the +library, gently drew them into the room, and quickly stepping out, +closed the door and hastened upstairs. + +As he entered his room he thought that he heard a cry, and he +listened, but naught save a throbbing silence came from below. He sat +down, put his arms on the table, and his head lay an aching weight +upon his arms. After a time he got up, and taking his traveling-bag +from a closet, began to pack it. There was his old pipe, still with a +ribbon tied about the stem. He waited a long time and then went +down-stairs. The library door was closed, and gently he rapped upon +it. Witherspoon's voice bade him enter. + +Mrs. Witherspoon was sitting on a sofa; young Henry was on his knees, +and his head was in her lap. Witherspoon and Ellen were standing near. + +"He is like my father's people," the mother said, fondly stroking his +hair. "All the Springers were light." She looked at DeGolyer, and her +eyes were soft, but for him they no longer held the glow of a mother's +love. DeGolyer put down his bag near the door. + +"Mr. Witherspoon, I hardly know what to say. I came to this house as a +lie, but I shall leave it as a truth. I"-- + +"Hank!" young Henry cried, getting up, "you ain't going away. You are +going to stay here." + +He ran to DeGolyer, seized his hand, and leading him to Ellen, said: +"I have caught you a prince. Take him." And DeGolyer, smiling sadly, +replied, "I love her as a brother." She held out her hands to him. "I +could never think of you as anything else," she said. + +"But you must not leave us," Mrs. Witherspoon declared, coming +forward. + +"Yes, my mission here is ended." + +"You shan't go, Hank," young Witherspoon cried. + +"Henry," said DeGolyer, "I did as you requested. Now it is your time +to obey. Keep quiet!" He stood erect; he had the bearing of a master. +He turned to Witherspoon. "Here is a check for the amount of money you +advanced me, with interest added." + +Witherspoon stepped back. "I refuse to take it," he said. + +"But you _shall_ take it. I have sold the paper at a profit, and it +has made money almost from the first. Do as I tell you. Take this +check." + +The merchant took the check, and it shook in his hand. DeGolyer now +addressed Mrs. Witherspoon. "You have indeed been a mother to me. No +gentler being ever lived, and till the day of my death I shall +remember you with affection." + +"Oh, this is all so strange!" she cried, weeping. + +"Yes, but everything is strange, when we come to think of it. God +bless you. Sister,"--Ellen gave him her hands,--"good-by." + +He kissed the girl, and then kissed Mrs. Witherspoon. Henry came +toward him, but DeGolyer stopped him with a wave of his hand. "My dear +boy, I'm not going out of the world. No, you mustn't grab hold of me. +Stand where you are. You shall hear from me. Mr. Witherspoon, this +time you must get up a statement without my help--I mean for the +newspapers. I know that I have caused you a great deal of worry, but +it is a pretty hard matter to live a lie even when it is imposed as a +duty. By the way, a poor sea captain, Atkins is his name, brought +Henry from Dura. I wish you would send him a check, care Wharfmaster, +New Orleans." + +"I will." + +"Good-by, Mr. Witherspoon." + +"Henry DeGolyer," said Witherspoon, grasping his hand, "you are the +most honorable man I ever met." + +"There, now!" DeGolyer cried, holding up his hand--they all were +coming toward him--"do as I tell you and remain where you are." + +He caught up his bag and hastened out. "To the _Star_ office," he said +to the cabman. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +CONCLUSION. + + +"I'd began to think that you'd forgotten to come," said Miss Drury, as +DeGolyer entered the room. She was sitting at her desk, and hits of +torn paper were scattered about her. + +"I'm sorry that I kept you waiting so long," he replied. He did not +sit down, but stood near her. + +"Oh, it hasn't been so _very_ long," she rejoined. "Why, how you have +changed since yesterday," she added, looking at him. + +"For the worse?" he asked. + +"For the better; you look more like the heir to a great fortune." + +He smiled. "I am an heir to freedom, and that is the greatest of +fortune." + +"Oh, now you are trying to mystify me again; and you said that to-day +you would make everything clear." + +"And I shall. Laura"--she looked up quickly--he repeated, "this is my +last day in this office. I have sold the paper, and the new owner will +take charge to-morrow." + +"I'm sorry," she said, and then added: "But on my part that is +selfishness. Of course you know what is best for yourself." + +"I told you yesterday that my story would be completed to-day. It is, +and I will tell it." + +The latest edition had left the press, and there was scarcely a sound +in the building. The sharp cry of the newsboy came from the street. + +In telling her his story be did not begin with his early life, but +with the time when first he met young Witherspoon. It was a swift +recital; and he sought not to surprise her; he strove to tone down her +amazement. + +"And to-day I took his son to him. I saw the quick transfer of a +mother's love and of a father's interest--I saw a girl half-frightened +at the thought that upon a stranger she had bestowed the intimacies of +a sister's affection. I had made so strong an effort to be honorable +with myself, at least; to persuade myself that I was fulfilling an +honest mission, but had failed, for at last I had fallen to the level +of an ordinary hypocrite; I had found myself to be a purse-proud fool. +When I went into that restaurant my sympathies were dead, and when +that man pointed at the poor menial and said that his name was Henry +DeGolyer"-- + +"No, no," she said, hiding her face, "your sympathies were not dead. +You--you were a hero." + +"I was simply a frozen-blooded fool," he replied. "And now I must tell +you something, but I know that it will make you despise me. My father +was a beast--he broke my mother's heart. The first thing I remember, +her dead arms were about me and a chill was upon me--I knew not the +meaning of death, but I was terrorized by its cold mystery. I cried +out, but no one came, and there in the dark, with that icy problem, I +remained alone"-- + +"Oh, don't," she cried, and her hands seemed to flutter in her lap. +She got up, and putting her arms on the top of the desk, leaned her +head upon them. + +"How could I despise you for that?" she sobbed. + +"Not for that," he bitterly answered, "but for this I was taken to +the Foundlings' Home--was taken from that place to become the +disgraceful property of an Italian hag. She taught me, compelled me to +be a thief. Once she and some ruffians robbed a store and forced me to +help them. I ought to have died before that. She demanded that I +should steal something every day, and if I didn't she beat me. I got +up early one morning and robbed _her_. I took a handful of money out +of her drawer and ran away. But in the street a horror seized me, and +I threw the money in the gutter and fled from it. Don't you see that I +was born a thief? But I have striven so hard since then to be an +honorable man. But don't try not to pity, to despise me. You can't +help it. But, my God, I do love you!" + +She turned toward him with a glory in her eyes, and he caught her in +his arms. + +The old building was silent, and the shout of the newsboy was far +away. + +"Angel of sweet mercy," he said, still holding her in his arms, "let +us leave this struggling place. I know of an old house in Virginia--it +is near the sea, and rest lies in the woods about it. Let us live +there, not to dream idly, but to work, to be a devoted man and his +happy wife. Come." + +He took her hand, and they went out into the hall. The place was +deserted, the elevator was not running, and down the dark stairway he +led her--out into the light of the street. + + +=THE END.= + + * * * * * + +=The Standard Library of Mystery= + + +=PRACTICAL ASTROLOGY= + By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN, the recognized leading authority on all + occult subjects. A plain, practical thorough work on this all + absorbing topic. Over 100 illustrations. + Cloth, special cover in colors, $1.00 + Paper, lithographed cover in five colors, .50 + +=THE STUDY OF PALMISTRY= +=For Professional Purposes and Advanced Pupils= + By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN. The highest, authority on Palmistry. + This excellent work was formerly issued in two volumes at $7.50. New + edition, two volumes bound in one superb imperial octavo volume. + Silk cloth, polished top, 1200 illustrations, $3.56 + +=PRACTICAL PALMISTRY= +=A new edition (65th thousand)= + By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN, author of that standard authority, + _The Study of Palmistry_. Hand-reading made easy and popular. + Cloth, 71 illustrations, among them 16 hands of + celebrities, unique cover, 75c + +=PRACTICAL HYPNOTISM.= +=Theories. Experiments, Full Instructions= + By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN. From the works of the great medical + authorities on the subject. Clear, simple style that will interest + everybody. _How to produce and to stop Hypnotic Sleep._ How to + cure disease by its use. + Cloth, special cover design in colors, 75c + +=HERRMANN THE GREAT; The Famous Magician's Tricks= + By H.J. BURLINGAME. Illustrated. Scores of explanations of the most + puzzling tricks of the greatest of all conjurers, never before + published. All apparatus described. + Cloth, special cover design in colors, 75c + +=THE GREAT DREAM BOOK= + By MADAME CARLOTTA DE BARSY. With a _New List of Lucky Numbers_. + Brilliant explanations of all possible dreams. + Cloth, unique cover, extra half-tone, 75c + +=TWENTIETH CENTURY FORTUNE TELLER= + By MADAME CARLOTTA DE BARSY. Strange revelations through the _Magic + Circle_. Every possible event foretold. + Cloth, extra half-tone, unique cover, 75c + +=THE SPIRIT WORLD UNMASKED= + By H.R. EVANS. Tricks and frauds or clairvoyants, mind readers, slate + writers, etc., fearlessly exposed. Life and work of Madame Blavatsky. + Illustrated. + 12mo, extra cloth, burnished top, 75c + + +For sale everywhere, or sent postpaid on receipt of price, by +=LAIRD & LEE, 263-265 WABASH AVE., CHICAGO, U.S.A.= + + * * * * * + +=GOOD READING= + +=BOOKS IN THE FAMOUS "PASTIME" SERIES= +Illustrated paper covers, =25c each= + + +=Opie Read's Works= + Lithographed Covers. + +The Harkriders. +The Starbuck. +The Carpetbagger. +Old Ebenezer. +My young Master. +The Jucklins. +On the Suwanee River. +The Colossus. +A Tennessee Judge. +Emmett Bonlore. +A Kentucky Colonel. +Len Gansett. +The Tear in the Cup and Other Stories. +The Wives of the Prophet. + + +=Wm. H. Thomes' Tales of Adventures= + Lithographed Covers. + +Daring Deeds. +The Ocean Rovers. +The Bushrangers. +Lewey and I. +On Land and Sea. +Running the Blockade. +The Belle of Australia. +A Goldhunter's Adventures. +A Manila Romance. +A Slaver's Adventures. +A Whaleman's Adventures. +The Goldhunters in Europe. + + +=Lawrence L. Lynch's= +=HIGH CLASS DETECTIVE STORIES= + Lithographed Covers. + +The Danger Line. +The Woman Who Dared. +High Stakes. +The Unseen Hand. +The Last Stroke. +The Lost Witness. +Shadowed by Three. +A Slender Clue. +Dangerous Ground. +Madeline Payne. +A Mountain Mystery. +The Diamond Coterie. +Romance of a Bomb Thrower. +Out of a Labyrinth. + + +=Max Nordau's Best Books= + +Paris Sketches. +Paradoxes. +Conventional Lies of Our Civilization. + + +=Dr. N.T. Oliver's Novels= + Lithographed Covers. + +An Unconscious Crime. +The Fateful Hand. +A Woman of Nerve. +A Desperate Deed. + + +=Miscellaneous= + + Lithographed Covers. +Practical Hypnotism, St. Germain +Black Rock, Ralph Conner +Fogg's Ferry, C.E. Callahan +Michael Carmichael, Miles Sandys +Elizabeth and Her German Garden. +Wed by Mighty Waves, Sue Greenleaf +Samantha at Saratoga. Illustrated by F. Opper, Josiah Allen's Wite +Tabernacle Talks, Geo. F. Hall +The Great Dream Book with Lucky Numbers. +20th Century Fortune-Teller. Illust'd. +Madame Bovary, Flaubert +A.D. 2000, A.M. Fuller +Camille, Dumas +The Lady With the Pearl Necklace, Dumas + +Rescued from Fiery Death--Iroquois Theater Romance, Wesley A. Stanger +Cousin Betty, Balzac +Crime and Punishment, Dostoieffsky +Herrmann the Great. The Famous Magicians Tricks. Illustrated, Burlingame +Her Sisters Rival, Albert Delpit +A Man of Honor, Feuillet +The Story of Three Girls, Fawcett +Sappho, Daudet +The Woman of Fire, Adolphe Belot +Sell Not Thyself, Winnifred Kent +Hulda: A Romance of the West, Mrs. Shuey +The American Monte Cristo, F.C. Long +Doctor Rameau, Georges Ohnet +The Mummer's Wife, George Moore +A Modern Lover, George Moore +Fettered by Fate, Emma F. Southworth +The Jolly Songster. Words and Music. Lover or Husband, Chas. de Bernard +Dr. Phillips, Frank Danby +The Lost Diamond, D.G. Adee +How Men Make Love and Get Married. +The Chouans, Honore de Balzac +Famous Romances of Voltaire, Voltaire +The Countess' Love, Prosper Merimee +Dr. Perdue, Stinson Jarvis + + +For sale everywhere, or sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by +=Laird & Lee, 263-265 Wabash Ave., Chicago= + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Colossus, by Opie Read + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COLOSSUS *** + +***** This file should be named 15073-8.txt or 15073-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/0/7/15073/ + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/15073-8.zip b/15073-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..efb6fa9 --- /dev/null +++ b/15073-8.zip diff --git a/15073-h.zip b/15073-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a762115 --- /dev/null +++ b/15073-h.zip diff --git a/15073-h/15073-h.htm b/15073-h/15073-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba6c46d --- /dev/null +++ b/15073-h/15073-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8992 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?> +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Colossus, by Opie Read. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Colossus, by Opie Read + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Colossus + A Novel + +Author: Opie Read + +Release Date: February 15, 2005 [EBook #15073] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COLOSSUS *** + + + + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>THE COLOSSUS</h1> + +<h2>A NOVEL</h2> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>OPIE READ</h2> + +<div class="center">Author of "The Carpetbagger," "Old Ebenezer," "The Jucklins," "My +Young Master," "On The Suwanee River," "A Kentucky Colonel," "Emmett +Bonlore," "A Tennessee Judge," "The Wives of the Prophet," "Len +Gansett," "The Tear in the Cup and Other Stories".<br /><br /></div> +<div class="center"> +CHICAGO<br /> +LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS<br /> +1893.<br /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="371" height="500" alt="Frontispiece" title="Frontispiece" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +<p> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I.</b></a> <b>LOOKING BACK AT EARLY LIFE</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II.</b></a> <b>A SLEEPY VILLAGE AND A FUSSY OLD MAN</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III.</b></a> <b>ALL WAS DARKNESS</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV.</b></a> <b>A STRANGE REQUEST</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V.</b></a> <b>DISSECTING A MOTIVE</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI.</b></a> <b>WAITING AT THE STATION</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII.</b></a> <b>A MOTHER'S AFFECTION</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII.</b></a> <b>THE DOMAIN OF A GREAT MERCHANT</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER IX.</b></a> <b>THE INTERVIEWERS</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER X.</b></a> <b>ROMPED WITH THE GIRL</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>CHAPTER XI.</b></a> <b>ACKNOWLEDGED BY SOCIETY</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>CHAPTER XII.</b></a> <b>A DEMOCRACY</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>CHAPTER XIII.</b></a> <b>BUTTING AGAINST A WALL</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>CHAPTER XIV.</b></a> <b>A DIFFERENT HANDWRITING</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>CHAPTER XV.</b></a> <b>TOLD HIM HER STORY</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>CHAPTER XVI.</b></a> <b>AN AROUSER OF THE SLEEPY</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>CHAPTER XVII.</b></a> <b>AN OLD MAN WOULD INVEST</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><b>CHAPTER XVIII.</b></a> <b>THE INVESTMENT</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><b>CHAPTER XIX.</b></a> <b>ARRESTED EVERYWHERE</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><b>CHAPTER XX.</b></a> <b>CRIED A SENSATION</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><b>CHAPTER XXI.</b></a> <b>A HELPLESS OLD WOMAN</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><b>CHAPTER XXII.</b></a> <b>TO GO ON A VISIT</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><b>CHAPTER XXIII.</b></a> <b>HENRY'S INCONSISTENCY</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><b>CHAPTER XXIV.</b></a> <b>WORE A ROSE ON HIS COAT</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><b>CHAPTER XXV.</b></a> <b>IMPATIENTLY WAITING</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"><b>CHAPTER XXVI.</b></a> <b>TOLD IT ALL</b><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII"><b>CHAPTER XXVII.</b></a> <b>POINTS OUT HER BROTHER'S DUTY</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII"><b>CHAPTER XXVIII.</b></a> <b>THE VERDICT</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX"><b>CHAPTER XXIX.</b></a> <b>A DAY OF REST</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX"><b>CHAPTER XXX.</b></a> <b>A MOTHER'S REQUEST</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI"><b>CHAPTER XXXI.</b></a> <b>A MOMENT OF ARROGANCE</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII"><b>CHAPTER XXXII.</b></a> <b>A MOST PECULIAR FELLOW</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII"><b>CHAPTER XXXIII.</b></a> <b>THE TIME WAS DRAWING NEAR</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV"><b>CHAPTER XXXIV.</b></a><b> TOLD HIM A STORY</b><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV"><b>CHAPTER XXXV.</b></a> <b>CONCLUSION</b><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I" />CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>LOOKING BACK AT EARLY LIFE.</h3> + + +<p>When the slow years of youth were gone and the hastening time of +manhood had come, the first thing that Henry DeGolyer, looking back, +could call from a mysterious darkness into the dawn of memory was that +he awoke one night in the cold arms of his dead mother. That was in +New Orleans. The boy's father had aspired to put the face of man upon +lasting canvas, but appetite invited whisky to mix with his art, and +so upon dead walls he painted the trade-mark bull, and in front of +museums he exaggerated the distortion of the human freak.</p> + +<p>After the death of his mother, the boy was taken to the Foundlings' +Home, where he was scolded by women and occasionally knocked down by a +vagabond older than himself. Here he remembered to have seen his +father but once. It was a Sunday when he came, years after the gentle +creature, holding her child in her arms, had died at midnight. The +painter laughed and cried and begged an old woman for a drink of +brandy. He went away, and after an age had seemed to pass the matron +of the place took the boy on her lap and told him that his father was +dead, and then, putting him down, she added: "Run along, now, and be +good."</p> + +<p>The boy was taken by an old Italian woman. In after years he could not +determine the length of time that he had lived in her wretched home, +but with vivid brightness dwelled in his memory the morning when he +ran away and found a free if not an easy life in the newsboys' +lodging-house. He sold newspapers, he went to a night school, and as +he grew older he picked up "river items" for an afternoon newspaper. +His hope was that he might become a "professional journalist," as +certain young men termed themselves; and study, which in an +ill-lighted room, tuned to drowsiness by the buzzing of youthful +mumblers, might have been a chafing task to one who felt not the rowel +of a spurring ambition, was to him a pleasure full of thrilling +promises. To him the reporter stood at the high-water mark of +ambition's "freshet." But when years had passed and he had scrambled +to that place he looked down and saw that his height was not a dizzy +one. And instead of viewing a conquered province, he saw, falling from +above, the shadows of trials yet to be endured. He worked faithfully, +and at one time held the place of city editor, but a change in the +management of the paper not only reduced him to the ranks, but, as the +saying went, set him on the sidewalk. Then he wrote "specials." His +work was bright, original and strong, and was reproduced throughout +the country, but as it was not signed, the paper alone received the +credit. Year after year he lived in this unsettled way—reading in the +public library, musing at his own fireside, catching glimpses of an +important work which the future seemed to hold, and waiting for the +outlines of that work to become more distinct; but the months went by +and the plan of the work remained in the shadow of the coming years.</p> + +<p>DeGolyer had now reached that time of life when a wise man begins +strongly to suspect that the past is but a future stripped of its +delusions. He was a man of more than ordinary appearance; indeed, +people who knew him, and who believed that size grants the same +advantages to all vocations, wondered why he was not more successful. +He was tall and strong, and in his bearing there was an ease which, to +one who recognizes not a sleeping nerve force, would have suggested +the idea of laziness. His complexion was rather dark, his eyes were +black, and his hair was a dark brown. He was not handsome, but his sad +face was impressive, and his smile, a mere melancholy recognition that +something had been said, did not soon fade from memory.</p> + +<p>One afternoon DeGolyer called at the office of a morning newspaper, +and was told that the managing editor wanted to see him. When he was +shown in he found an aspiring politician laughing with forced +heartiness at something which the editor had said. To the Southern +politician the humor of an influential editor is full of a delirious +mellowness.</p> + +<p>When the politician went out the editor invited DeGolyer to take a +seat. "Mr. DeGolyer, a number of your sketches have been well +received."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; they have made me a few encouraging enemies."</p> + +<p>The editor smiled. "And you regard enemies as an encouragement, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, as a proof of success. Our friends mark out a course for us, and +if we depart from it and do something better than their +specifications call for, they become our enemies."</p> + +<p>"I don't know but you are right." After a short silence the editor +continued: "Mr. DeGolyer, we have been thinking of sending a man down +into Costa Rica. Our merchants believe that if we were to pay more +attention to that country we might thereby improve our trade. What we +want is a number of letters intended to familiarize us with those +people—want to show, you understand, that we are interested in them."</p> + +<p>They talked during an hour. The nest day DeGolyer was on board a +steamer bound for Punta Arenas. On the vessel he met a young man who +said that his name was Henry Sawyer; and this young man was so blithe +and light-hearted that DeGolyer, yielding to the persuasion of +contrast, was drawn toward him. Young Sawyer was accompanied by his +uncle, a short, fat, and at times a crusty old fellow. DeGolyer did +not think that the uncle was wholly sound of mind. One evening, just +before reaching port, and while the two young men were standing on +deck, looking landward, young Sawyer said:</p> + +<p>"Do you know, I think more of you than of any fellow I ever met?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know it," DeGolyer answered, "but I am tempted to hope so."</p> + +<p>"Good. I do, and that's a fact. You see, I've led a most peculiar sort +of life. I never had any home—that is, any real home. I don't +remember a thing about my father and mother. They died when I was very +young, and then my uncle took me. Uncle never married and never was +particularly attached to any one place. We have traveled a good deal; +have lived quite a while in New Orleans, but for the past two years we +have lived in a little bit of a place called Ulmata, in central Costa +Rica. Uncle's got an interest in some mines not far from there. Say, +why wouldn't it be a good idea for you to go to Ulmata and write your +letters from there? Ain't any railroad, but there's a mule line +running to the coast. How does it strike you?"</p> + +<p>"I'd like to, but I'm afraid that it would take my letters too long to +reach New Orleans; still, I don't know what difference that would +make, as I'm not going to write news. After all," he added, as though +he were arguing with himself, "I should think that the interior is +more interesting than the coast, for people don't hang their +characteristics over the coast line."</p> + +<p>"There, you've hit the nail the very first lick. You go out there with +us, and I'll bet we have a magnificent time."</p> + +<p>"But your uncle might object."</p> + +<p>"How can he? It ain't any of his business where you go."</p> + +<p>"Of course not."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, that settles it. But really, he'd like to have you. +You'll like him; little peculiar at times, but you'll find him all +right. You'll get a good deal of money for those letters, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"No; a hired mail on a newspaper doesn't get much money."</p> + +<p>"But it must take a good deal of brains to do your work."</p> + +<p>"Presumably, but there stands a long row of brains ready to take the +engagement—to take it, in fact, at a cut rate. The market is full of +brains."</p> + +<p>"How old did you say you were?"</p> + +<p>"I am nearly thirty," DeGolyer answered.</p> + +<p>"I'm only twenty-five, but that don't make any difference; we'll have +a splendid time all the same. You read a good deal, I notice. Uncle's +got a whole raft of books, and you can read to me when you get tired +of reading to yourself. I've gone to school a good deal, but I'm not +much of a hand with a book; but I tell you what I believe—I believe I +could run a business to the queen's taste if I had a chance, and I'm +going to try it one of these days. Uncle tells me that after awhile I +may be worth some money, and if I am I'll get rich as sure as you're +born. Business was born in me, but I've never had a chance to do +anything, I have traded around a little, and I've made some money, +too, but the trouble is that I've never been settled down long enough +to do much of anything, I've scarcely any chance at all out at Ulmata. +What would you rather be than anything else?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. It doesn't seem that nature has exerted herself in +fitting me for anything, and I am a strong believer in natural +fitness. We may learn to do a thing in an average sort of way, but +excellence requires instinct, and instinct, of course, can't be +learned."</p> + +<p>"I guess that's so. I can see hundreds of ways to make money. I'd +rather be a big merchant than anything else. Old fellow," he suddenly +broke off, "I am as happy as can be to have you go out yonder with us; +and mark what I tell you—we're going to have a splendid time."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II" />CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>A SLEEPY VILLAGE AND A FUSSY OLD MAN.</h3> + + +<p>In the village of Ulmata there was just enough of life to picture the +dreamy indolence of man. Rest was its complexion, and freedom from all +marks of care its most pleasing aspect.</p> + +<p>Old Sawyer was so demonstrably gratified to have a companion for his +nephew that he invited DeGolyer to take a room in his house, and +DeGolyer gratefully accepted this kindness. Young Sawyer was delighted +when the household had thus been arranged, and with many small +confidences and unstudied graces of boyish friendship, he kept his +guest in the refreshing atmosphere of welcome. And in the main the +uncle was agreeable and courteous, but there were times when he flew +out of his orbit of goodfellowship.</p> + +<p>Once he came puffing into the room where DeGolyer was writing, and +blusteringly flounced upon a sofa. He remained quiet for a few +moments, and then he blew so strong a spout of annoyance that DeGolyer +turned to him and asked:</p> + +<p>"Has anything gone wrong?"</p> + +<p>The old fellow's eyes bulged out as if he were straining under a heavy +load. "Yes," he puffed, "the devil's gone wrong."</p> + +<p>"But isn't that of ancient date?" DeGolyer asked.</p> + +<p>"Here, now, young fellow, don't try to saw me!" And then he broke off +with this execration: "Oh, this miserable world—this infernal pot +where men are boiled!" He rolled his eyes like a choking ox, and after +a short silence, asked: "Young fellow, do you know what I'd do if I +were of your age?"</p> + +<p>"If you were of my temperament as well as of my age I don't think +you'd do much of anything."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I would; I would confer a degree of high favor on myself. I +would cut my throat, sir."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, but is it too late at your time of life?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, for my nerve is diseased and I am a coward, an infamous, +doddering old coward, sir. Good God! to live for years in darkness, +bumping against the sharp corners of conscience. I have never told +Henry, but I don't mind telling you that at times I am almost mad. For +years I have sought to read myself out of it, but to an unsettled mind +a book is a sly poison—the greatest of books are but the records of +trouble. Don't you say a word to Henry. He thinks that my mind is as +sound as a new acorn, but it isn't."</p> + +<p>"I won't—but, by the way, he is young; why don't you advise him to +kill himself?"</p> + +<p>The old fellow flounced off the sofa and stood bulging his eyes at +DeGolyer.</p> + +<p>"Don't you ever say such a thing as that again!" he snorted. "Why, +confound your hide! would you have that boy dead?"</p> + +<p>DeGolyer threw down his pen. "No, I would have him live forever in his +thoughtless and beautiful paradise; I would not pull him down to the +thoughtful man's hell of self-communion."</p> + +<p>"Look here, young man, you must have a history."</p> + +<p>"No, simply an ill-written essay."</p> + +<p>"Who was your father?"</p> + +<p>"A fool."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I grant you. And who was your mother?"</p> + +<p>"An angel."</p> + +<p>"No, sir, she—I beg your pardon," the old man quickly added. "You are +sensitive, sir."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer, sadly smiling, replied: "He who suffered in childhood, and +who in after life has walked hand in hand with disappointment, and is +then not sensitive, is a brute."</p> + +<p>"How well do I know the truth of that! DeGolyer, I have been +acquainted with you but a short time, but you appeal to me strongly, +sir. And I could almost tell you something, but it is something that I +ought to keep to myself. I could make you despise me and then offer me +your regard as a compromise. Oh, that American republic of ours, +fought for by men who scorned the romance of kingly courts, is not so +commonplace a country after all. Many strange things happen there, and +some of them are desperately foul. Is that Henry coming? Hush."</p> + +<p>The young man bounded into the room. "Say," he cried, "I've bargained +for six of the biggest monkeys you ever saw. That old fellow "—</p> + +<p>"Henry," the uncle interrupted, taking up a hat and fanning his +purplish face, "you are getting too old for that sort of foolishness. +You are a man, you must remember, and it may not be long until you'll +be called upon to exercise the judgment of a man."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I was going to buy the monkeys and sell them again for three +times as much as I gave for them, but you bet that when I'm called on +to exercise the judgment, of a man I'll be there. And do you think +that I'd fool with mines or anything else in this country? I +wouldn't. I'd go to some American city and make money. Say, DeGolyer, +when are you going to start off on that jaunt?"</p> + +<p>"What jaunt?" the old man asked.</p> + +<p>"I am going to make a tour of the country," DeGolyer answered. "I'm +going to visit nearly every community of interest and gather material +for my letters, and shall be gone a month or so, I should think."</p> + +<p>"And I'm going with him," said Henry.</p> + +<p>"No," the old man replied, "you are not going to leave me here all +that time alone. I'm old, and I want you near me."</p> + +<p>"All right, uncle; whatever you say goes."</p> + +<p>When DeGolyer mounted a mule and set out on his journey, young Sawyer, +as if clinging to his friendship, walked beside him for some distance +into the country.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'd better turn back here," said the young man, halting. "Say, +Hank, don't stay away any longer than you can help. It's devilish +lonesome here, you know."</p> + +<p>"I won't, my boy."</p> + +<p>"All right. And say, if you can't do the thing up as well as you want +to, throw up the job and come back here, for I'll turn loose, the +first thing you know, and make enough money for both of us."</p> + +<p>"God bless you, I hope that you may always make enough for yourself."</p> + +<p>"And you bet I will, and for you, too. I hate like the mischief to see +you go away. Couldn't think any more of you if we were twin brothers. +And you think a good deal of me, too, don't you, Hank?"</p> + +<p>"My boy," said DeGolyer, leaning over and placing his hand on the +young fellow's shoulder, "I have never speculated with my friendship, +and I don't know how valuable it is, but all of it that is worth +having is yours. You make friends everywhere; I don't. You have +nothing to conceal, and I have nothing to make known. To tell you the +truth, you are the only real friend I ever had."</p> + +<p>"Look out, now. That sort of talk knocks me; but say, don't be away +any longer than you can help."</p> + +<p>"I won't!" He rode a short distance, turned in his saddle, waved his +hand and cried: "God bless you, my boy."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III" />CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>ALL WAS DARKNESS.</h3> + + +<p>Delays and difficulties of traveling, together with his own +determination to do the work thoroughly, prolonged DeGolyer's absence. +Nearly three months had passed. Evening was come, and from a distant +hill-top the returning traveler saw the steeple of Ulmata's church—a +black mark on the fading blush of lingering twilight. A chilly +darkness crept out of the valley. Hungry dogs barked in the dreary +village. DeGolyer could see but a single light. It burned in the +priest's house—a dark age, and as of yore, with all the light held by +the church. The weary man liberated his mule on a common, where its +former companions were grazing, and sought the house of his friends. +The house was dark and the doors were fastened. He knocked, and a +startling echo, an audible darkness, came from the valley. He knocked +again, and a voice cried from the street:</p> + +<p>"Who's that?"</p> + +<p>"Helloa, is that you, my boy?"</p> + +<p>There was no answer, but a figure rushed through the darkness, seized +DeGolyer, and in a hoarse whisper said:</p> + +<p>"Come where there's a light."</p> + +<p>"Why, what's the matter, Henry?"</p> + +<p>"Come where there's a light."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer followed him to a wretched place that bore the name of a +public-house, and went with him into a room. A lamp sputtered on a +shelf. Young Sawyer caught DeGolyer's hands.</p> + +<p>"I have waited so long for you to come back to this dreadful place. I +am all alone. Uncle is dead."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer sat down without saying a word. He sat in silence, and then +he asked:</p> + +<p>"When did he die?"</p> + +<p>"About two weeks after you left."</p> + +<p>"Did he kill himself?"</p> + +<p>"Good God, no! Why did you think that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I didn't really think it—don't know why I said it."</p> + +<p>"He was sick only a few days, and the strangest thing has come to +light! He seemed to know before he was taken sick that he was going to +die, and he spent nearly a whole day in writing—writing something for +me—and the strangest thing has come to light. I can hardly realize +it. Here it is; read it. Don't say a word till you have read every +line of it. Strangest thing I ever heard of."</p> + +<p>And this is what DeGolyer read by the light of the sputtering lamp:</p> + +<p>"Years ago there lived in Salem, Mass., two brothers, George and +Andrew Witherspoon. Their parents had passed away when the boys were +quite young, but the youngsters had managed to get a fair start in +life. Without ado let me say that I am Andrew Witherspoon. My brother +and I were of different temperaments. He had graces of mind, but was +essentially a business man. I prided myself that I was born to be a +thinker. I worshiped Emerson. I know now that a man who would +willingly become a thinker is a fool. When I was twenty-three—and +George nearly twenty-one—I fell in love with Caroline Springer. There +was just enough of poetry in my nature to throw me into a devotion +that was almost wild in its intensity, and after my first meeting with +her I knew no peace. The chill of fear and the fever of confidence +came alternating day by day, and months passed ere I had the strength +of nerve to declare myself; but at last the opportunity and the +courage came together. I was accepted. She said that if I had great +love her love might be measured by my own, and that if I did not think +that I could love her always she would go away and end her days in +grief. The wedding day was appointed. But when I went to claim my +bride she was gone—gone with my brother George. To-day, an old man, I +look back upon that time and see myself raving on the very brink of +madness. I had known that George was acquainted with Caroline +Springer—indeed, I had proudly introduced him to her. I will tell my +story, though, and not discourse. But it is hard for an old man to be +straightforward. If he has read much he is discursive, and if he has +not read he is tedious with many words. I didn't leave Salem at once. +I met George, and he did not even attempt to apologize for the wrong +he had done me. He repeated the fool saying that all is fair in love. +'You ought to be glad that you discovered her lack of love in time,' +he said. This was consolation, surely. My mind may never have been +well-balanced, and I think that at this time it tilted over to one +side, never to tilt back. And now my love, trampled in the mire, arose +in the form of an evil determination. I would do my brother and his +wife an injury that could not be repaired. I did not wish them dead; I +wanted them to live and be miserable. A year passed, and a boy was +born. I left my native town and went west. I lived there nearly three +years, and then I sent to a Kansas newspaper an account of my death. +It was printed, and I sent my brother a marked copy of the paper. Two +weeks later I was in Salem. I wore a beard, kept myself close, and no +one recognized me. I waited for an opportunity. It came, and I stole +my brother's boy. I went to Boston, to Europe, back to America; lived +here and there, and you know the rest. My dear boy, I repented +somewhat, and it was my intention, at some time, to restore you to +your parents, but you yourself were their enemy; you crept into my +heart and I could not pluck you out. For a time the story of your +mysterious disappearance filled the newspapers. You were found in a +hundred towns, year after year, and when your sensation had run its +course, you became the joke of the paragraphers. It was no longer, +'Who struck Billy Patterson?" but 'Who stole Henry Witherspoon?' Once +I saw your father in New Orleans. He had come to identify his boy; but +he went away with another consignment added to his large stock of +disappointment. Finally all hope was apparently abandoned and even the +newspapers ceased to find you.</p> + +<p>"Your father and mother now live in Chicago. George Witherspoon is one +of the great merchants of that city, and is more than a millionaire. +This is why I have so often told you that one day you would be worth +money. You were young and could afford to wait; I was old, and to me +the present was everything, and you were the present.</p> + +<p>"For some time I have been threatened with sudden death; I have felt +it at night when you were asleep; and now I have written a confession +which for years I irresolutely put aside from day to day. I charge you +to bury me as Andrew Witherspoon, for in the grave I hope to be +myself, with nothing to hide. Write at once to your father, and after +settling up my affairs, which I urge you not to neglect, you can go to +him. In the commercial world a high place awaits you, and though I +have done you a great wrong, I hope that your recollection of my deep +love for you may soften your resentment and attune your young heart to +the sweet melody of forgiveness.</p> + +<p>"ANDREW WITHERSPOON."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer folded the paper, returned it to Henry and sat in silence. +He looked at the smoking lamp and listened to the barking of the +hungry dogs.</p> + +<p>"What do you think, Hank?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what to think."</p> + +<p>"But ain't it the strangest thing you ever heard of?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is strange, and yet not so strange to me. It is simply the +sequel to a well-known story. In the streets of New Orleans, years +ago, when I could scarcely carry a bundle of newspapers, I cried your +name. The story was getting old then, for I remember that the people +paid but little attention to it."</p> + +<p>They sat for a time in silence. Young Witherspoon spoke, but DeGolyer +did not answer him. They heard a guitar and a Spanish love song.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is strange," said DeGolyer, coming hack from a wandering +reverie. "It is strange that I should be here with you;" and under a +quickening of his newspaper instincts, he added, "and I shall have the +writing of it."</p> + +<p>"But wait awhile before you let your mind ran on on that, Hank. I +don't want to be described and talked about so much. I know it can't +be kept out of the papers, but we'll discuss that after a while. Now, +let me tell you what I've done. I wrote to—to—father—don't that +sound strange? I wrote to him and sent him a copy of uncle's paper—I +would have sent the original, but I wanted to show that to you. I also +sent a note that mother—there it is again—wrote to uncle a long time +ago, and a lock of hair and some other little tricks. I told him to +write to me, and here's his letter. It came nearly four weeks ago. And +think, Hank, I've got a sister—grown and handsome, too, I'll bet."</p> + +<p>Ecstasy had almost made the letter incoherent. It was written first by +one and then another hand, with frequent interchanges; and DeGolyer; +who fancied that he could pick character oat of the marks of a pen, +thought that a mother's heart had overflowed and that a hard, +commercial hand had cramped itself to a strange employment—the +expression of affection. The father deplored the fact that his son +could not be reached by telegraph, and still more did he lament his +inability, on account of urgent business demands, to come himself +instead of sending a letter. "Admit of no delay, but set out for home +at once," the father commanded. "Telegraph as soon as you can, and +your mother and I will meet you in New Orleans. I hope that this may +not be exploited in the newspapers. God knows that in our time we have +had enough of newspaper notoriety. Say nothing to any one, but come at +once, and we can give for publication such a statement as we think +necessary. Of course your discovery, as a sequel to your abduction +years ago and the tremendous interest aroused at the time, will be of +national importance, but I prefer that the news be sent out from this +place."</p> + +<p>Here the handwriting was changed, and "love," "thank God," "darling +child," and emotion blots filled out the remainder of the page.</p> + +<p>"You see," said Witherspoon, "that I have a reason for depriving you +of an early whack at this thing. Now, I have written again and told +them not to be impatient, and that I would leave here as soon as +possible. I have settled up everything here, but I've got to go to a +little place away over on the coast and close out some mining +interests there."</p> + +<p>"It must be of but trifling importance, my boy, and I should think +that you'd let it go."</p> + +<p>"No, sir; I'm going to do my duty by that dear old man if I never do +anything else while I live."</p> + +<p>He held not a mote of resentment. Indeed was his young heart "attuned +to the sweet melody of forgiveness."</p> + +<p>"By the way, Hank, here's a letter for you."</p> + +<p>The communication was brief. It was from New Orleans and ran thus: +"The five letters which we have published have awakened no interest +whatever, and I am therefore instructed to discontinue the service. +Inclosed please find check for the amount due you."</p> + +<p>"What is it, Hank?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing except what I might have expected. Read it."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon read the letter, and crumpling it, broke out in his +impulsive way: "That's all right, old fellow. It fits right into my +plan, and now let me tell you what that is. We'll leave here to-morrow +and go over to Dura and settle up there. I don't know how long it will +take, and I won't try to telegraph until we get through. Dura isn't +known as a harbor, it is such a miserably small place, but ships land +there once in awhile, and we can sail from there. But the main part of +my plan is that you are to go with me and live in Chicago; and I'll +bet we have a magnificent time. I'll go in the store, and I'll warrant +that father—don't that sound strange?—that father can get you a good +place on one of the newspapers. You haven't had a chance. Hank, and +when you do get one, I'll bet you can lay out the best of them. What +do you say?"</p> + +<p>"Henry," said the dark-visaged DeGolyer—and the light of affection +beamed in his eyes—"Henry, you are a positive charm; and if I should +meet a girl adorned with a disposition like yours, I would unstring my +heart, hand it to her and say, 'Here, miss, this belongs to you.'"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you may find one. I've got a sister, you know. What! are you +trying to look embarrassed? Do you know what I'm going to say? I'm +going to lead you up to my sister and say, 'Here, I have caught you a +prince; take him.'"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, my boy."</p> + +<p>"That's all right; but, seriously, will you go with me?"</p> + +<p>"I will."</p> + +<p>"Good. We'll get ready to-night and start early in the morning. But I +mustn't forget to see the priest again. He was a friend when I needed +one; he took charge of uncle's burial. But," he suddenly broke off +with rising spirits, "won't we have a time? Millionaire, eh? I'll +learn that business and make it worth ten millions."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV" />CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>A STRANGE REQUEST.</h3> + + +<p>The next morning, before it was well light, and at a time when brisk +youth and slow age were seeking the place of confession, Henry +Witherspoon went to the priest, not to acknowledge a sin, but to avow +a deep gratitude. The journey was begun early; it was in July. The +morning was braced with a cool breeze, the day was cloudless, and +night's lingering gleam of silver melted in the gold of morn. Young +Witherspoon's impressive nature was up with joy or down with sadness. +The prospect of his new life was a happiness, and the necessity to +leave his old uncle in a foreign country was a sore regret; so +happiness and regret strove against each other, but happiness, +advantaged with a buoyant heart as a contest-ground, soon ended the +struggle.</p> + +<p>On a brown hill-top they met the sunrise, and from a drowsy +roosting-place they flushed a flock of greenish birds. Witherspoon +stood in his stirrups and waved his hat. "Good-by," he cried, "but you +needn't have got up so soon. We didn't want you. Hank," he said, +turning sideways in his saddle, "I think we can get there in about +five days, at the pace we'll be compelled to go; and we can sell these +mules or give them away, just as we like. Going home! I can't get the +strangeness of it out of my head. And a sister, too, mind you. I'm +beginning to feel like a man now. You see, uncle wanted me to be a boy +as long as I could, and it was only of late that he began to tell me +that I must put aside foolishness; but I am beginning to feel like a +man now."</p> + +<p>"You will need to feel like one when you take up your new +responsibilities. You are playing now, but it may be serious enough +after a while."</p> + +<p>"What! Don't preach, Hank. Responsibilities! Why, I'll throw them over +my shoulder like a twine string. But let me tell you something. +There's one thing I'm not going to allow—they shan't say a word +against that old man. Oh, I know the trouble and grief he brought +about, but by gracious, he had a cause. If—if—mother didn't love +him, why did she say that if he didn't love her she would go away +somewhere and grieve herself to death? That was no way to treat a +fellow, especially a fellow that loves you like the mischief. And +besides, why did father cut him out? Pretty mean thing for a man to +slip around and steal his brother's sweetheart. In this country it +would mean blood."</p> + +<p>"You are a jewel, my boy."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm simply just. Of course, two wrongs don't make a right, as the +saying has it, but a wrong with a cause is half-way right, and I'll +tell them at the very start that they better not talk about the +matter. In fact, I told them so in the letter. You've had a pretty +hard time of it, haven't you, Hank?"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't want an enemy's dog to have a harder one," DeGolyer +answered.</p> + +<p>"But you've got a good education."</p> + +<p>"So has the hog that picks up cards and tells the time of day," said +DeGolyer, "but what good does that do him? He has to work harder than +other hogs, and is kept hungry so that he may perform with more +sprightliness. But if I have a good education, my boy, I stole it, and +I shouldn't be surprised at any time to meet an officer with a warrant +of arrest sworn out against me by society."</p> + +<p>"Good; but you didn't steal trash at any rate. But, Hank, you look for +the dark when the light would serve you better. Don't do it. Throw off +your trouble."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not disposed to look so much for the dark as you may imagine. +Throw it off! That's good advice. It is true that we may sometimes +throw off a trouble, but we can't very well throw off a cause. Some +natures are like a piece of fly-paper—a sorrow alights and sticks +there. But that isn't my nature. It doesn't take much to make me +contented."</p> + +<p>The weather remained pleasant, and the travelers were within a day's +ride of Dura, when Witherspoon complained one morning of feeling ill, +and by noon be could scarcely sit in his saddle.</p> + +<p>"Let us stop somewhere," DeGolyer urged.</p> + +<p>"No," Witherspoon answered, "let us get to Dura as soon as we can. +I've got a fever, haven't I?"</p> + +<p>DeGolyer leaned over and placed his hand on Witherspoon's forehead. +"Yes, you have."</p> + +<p>"The truth is, I haven't felt altogether right since the first day +after we started, but I thought it would wear off."</p> + +<p>When they reached Dura, Witherspoon was delirious. Not a ship was in +port, and DeGolyer took him to an inn and summoned such medical aid as +the hamlet afforded. The physician naturally gave the case a +threatening color, and it followed that he was right, for at the +close of the fourth day the patient gave no promise of improvement. +The innkeeper said that sometimes a month passed between the landing +of ships at that point. The fifth day came. DeGolyer sat by the +bedside of his friend, fanning him. The doctor had called and had just +taken his leave.</p> + +<p>"Give me some water, Hank."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you are coming around all right, my boy," DeGolyer cried. He +brought the water; and when the patient drank and shook his head as a +signal to take away the cup, DeGolyer asked; "Don't you feel a good +deal better?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"But your mind is clear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Shall I put another cold cloth on your head?"</p> + +<p>"If you please."</p> + +<p>And when DeGolyer had gently done this, Witherspoon said: "Sit down +here, Hank."</p> + +<p>"All right, my boy, here I am."</p> + +<p>"Hank, I'm not going to get well."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you are, and don't you let any such nonsense enter your +head."</p> + +<p>"It's a good ways from nonsense, I tell you. I know what I'm talking +about; I know just as well as can be that I'm going to die—now you +wait till I get through. It can't be helped, and there's no use in +taking on over it. I did want to see my father and mother and sister, +but it can't be helped."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer was on his knees beside the bed. He attempted to speak, but +his utterance was choked; and the tears in his eyes blurred to +spectral dimness the only human being whom he held warm in his heart.</p> + +<p>"Hank, while I am able to talk I've got a great favor to ask of you. +And you'll grant it, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," DeGolyer Bobbed.</p> + +<p>For a few moments the sick man lay in silence. He fumbled about and +found DeGolyer's hand. "My father and mother are waiting for me," he +said. "They have been raised into a new life. If I never come it will +be worse than if I had never been found, for they'll have a new grief +to bear, and it may be heavier than the first. They must have a son, +Hank."</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, what do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that if I die—and I know that I am going to die—you must be +their son. You must go there, not as Henry DeGolyer, but as Henry +Witherspoon, their own son."</p> + +<p>"Merciful God! I can't do that."</p> + +<p>"But if you care for me you will. Take all my papers—take everything +I've got—and go home. It will be the greatest favor you could do me +and the greatest you could do them."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear boy, I should be a liar and a hypocrite."</p> + +<p>"No, you would be playing my part because I couldn't play it. Once you +said that you would give me your life if I wanted it, and now I want +it. You can make them happy, and they'll be so proud of you. Won't you +try it? I would do anything on earth for you, and now you deny me +this—and who knows but my spirit might enter into you and form a part +of your own? How can you refuse me when you know that I think more of +you than I do of anybody? This is no boy's prank—I'm a man now. Will +you?"</p> + +<p>"Henry," said DeGolyer, "this is merely a feverish notion that has +come out of your derangement. Put it by, and after a while we will +laugh at it. Is the cloth hot again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I'll change it." And DeGolyer, removing the cloth and placing his +hand on his friend's forehead, added: "Your fever isn't so high as it +was yesterday. You are coming out all right."</p> + +<p>"No, I tell you that I'm going to die; and you won't do me the only +favor I could ask. Don't you remember saying, not long ago, that a +man's life is a pretense almost from the beginning to the end?"</p> + +<p>"I don't remember saying it, but it agrees with what I have often been +compelled to think."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, if you think that life is a pretense, why not pretend by +request?"</p> + +<p>"Well talk about it some other time, my boy."</p> + +<p>"But there may not be any other time."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, there will be. Don't you think you can sleep now?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think I can sleep and wake up again."</p> + +<p>But he did sleep, and he did awake again. Three more days passed +wearily away, and the patient was delirious most of the time. +DeGolyer's acquaintance with Spanish was but small, and he could +comprehend but little of what a pedantic doctor might say, yet he +learned that there was not much encouragement to be drawn from the +fact that the sick man's mind sometimes returned from its troubled +wandering.</p> + +<p>DeGolyer was again alone with his friend. It was a hot though a +blustery afternoon, and the sea, in sight through the open door, +sounded the deeper notes of its endless opera.</p> + +<p>"Hank."</p> + +<p>"I'm here, my boy."</p> + +<p>"Have you thought about what I told you to do?"</p> + +<p>"Are you still clinging to that notion?"</p> + +<p>"No; it is clinging to me. Have you thought about it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And what did you think?"</p> + +<p>"I thought that for you I would take the risk of playing a part that +you are unable to perform. But really, Henry, I'm too old."</p> + +<p>"You have promised, and my mind is at ease," the sick man said, with a +smile. "Now I feel that I have given my life over to you and that I +shall not really be dead so long as you are alive. Among my things you +will find some letters written by my mother to my uncle, and a small +gold chain and a locket that I wore when I was sto—when uncle took +me. That's all."</p> + +<p>"I will do the best I can, but I'm too old."</p> + +<p>"You are only a few years older than I am. They'll never know. They'll +be blind. You'll have the proof. Go at once. You are Henry +Witherspoon. That's all."</p> + +<p>The blustery afternoon settled into a calm as the sun went down, and a +change came with the night. The sufferer's mind flitted back for a +moment, and in that speck of time he spoke not, but he gave his friend +a look of gratitude. All was over. During the night DeGolyer sat alone +by the bedside. And a ship came at morning.</p> + +<p>A kind-hearted priest offered his services. "The ship has merely +dodged in here," said he, "and won't stay long, and it may be a month +before another one comes." And then he added: "You may leave these +melancholy rites to me."</p> + +<p>A man stepped into the doorway and cried in Spanish: "The ship is +ready."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer turned to the priest, and placing a purse on the table, said: +"I thank you." Then he stepped lightly to the bedside and gazed with +reverence and affection upon the face of the dead boy. He spoke the +name of Christ, and the priest heard him say: "Take his spirit to Thy +love and Thy mercy, for no soul more forgiving has ever entered Thy +Father's kingdom." He took up his traveling-bag and turned toward the +door. "One moment," said the priest, and pointing to the couch, he +asked: "What name?"</p> + +<p>"Henry—Henry DeGolyer."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V" />CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>DISSECTING A MOTIVE.</h3> + + +<p>Onward went the ship, nodding to the beck and call of mighty ocean. +DeGolyer—or, rather, Henry Witherspoon, as now he knew +himself—walked up and down the deck. And it seemed that at every turn +his searching grief had found a new abiding-place for sorrow. His +first strong attachment was broken, and he felt that in the years to +come, no matter what fortune they might bring him, there could not +grow a friendship large enough to fill the place made vacant by his +present loss. An absorbing love might come, but love is by turns a +sweet and anxious selfishness, while friendship is a broad-spread +generosity. Suddenly he was struck by the serious meaning of his +obligation, and with stern vivisection he laid bare the very nerves of +his motive. At first he could find nothing save the discharge of a +sacred duty; but what if this trust had entailed a life of toil and +sacrifice? Would he have accepted it? In his agreement to this odd +compact was there not an atom of self-interest? Over and over again he +asked himself these questions, and he strove to answer them to the +honor of his incentive, but he felt that in this strife there lay a +prejudice, a hope that self might be cleared of all dishonor. But was +there ever a man who, in the very finest detail, lived a life of +perfect truth and freedom from all selfishness? If so, why should +Providence have put him in a grasping world? Give conscience time and +it will find an easy bed, and yet the softest bed may have grown hard +ere morning comes.</p> + +<p>"Who am I that I should carp with myself?" the traveler mused. "Have +the world and its litter of pups done anything for me?" He walked up +and down the deck. "God knows that I shall always love the memory of +that dear boy. But if all things are foreseen and are still for the +best, why should he have died? Was it to throw upon me this great +opportunity? But who am I? And why should a special opportunity be +wrought for me? But who is anybody?"</p> + +<p>Going whither? Home. A father—and he thought of a drunken painter. A +mother—and his mind flew back to a midnight when arms that had +carried him warm with life were cold in death. A millionaire's +son—that thought startled him. What were the peculiar duties of a +millionaire's son? No matter. They might impose a strain, but they +could never be so trying as constant poverty. But who had afflicted +him with poverty? First his birth and then his temperament. But who +gave him the temperament? He wheeled about and walked away as if he +would be rid of an impertinent questioner.</p> + +<p>When the ship reached New Orleans he went straightway to the telegraph +office and sent this message to George Witherspoon: "Will leave for +Chicago to-day."</p> + +<p>And now his step was beyond recall; he must go forward. But conscience +had no needles, and his mind was at rest. In expectancy there was a +keen fascination. He met a reporter whom he knew, but there was no +sign of recognition. A beard, thick, black and neatly trimmed, gave +Henry's face an unfamiliar mold. But he felt a momentary fear, he +realized that a possible danger thenceforth would lie in wait for him, +and then came the easing assurance that his early life, his father and +his mother, were remembered by no one of importance, and that even if +he were recognized as Henry DeGolyer, he could still declare himself +the stolen son of George Witherspoon. Indeed, with safety he could +thus announce himself to the managing editor who had sent him to Costa +Rica, and he thought of doing this, but no, his—his father wanted the +secret kept until the time was ripe for its divulgence. He went into a +restaurant, and for the first time in his life he felt himself free to +order regardless of the prices on the bill of fare. Often, when a +hungry boy, he had sold newspapers in that house, and enviously he had +watched the man who seemed to care not for expenses. As he sat there +waiting for his meal, a newsboy came in, and after selling him a +paper, stood near the table.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, little fellow, and have something to eat."</p> + +<p>This was sarcasm, and the boy leered at him.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"What are you givin' me?"</p> + +<p>"This," said Henry, and he handed him a dollar.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI" />CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>WAITING AT THE STATION.</h3> + + +<p>Men bustling their way to the lunch counter; old women fidgeting in +the fear that they had forgotten something; man in blue crying the +destination of outgoing trains; weary mothers striving to soothe their +fretful children; the tumult raised by cabmen that were crowding +against the border-line of privilege; bells, shrieks, new harshnesses +here and there; confusion everywhere—a railway station in Chicago.</p> + +<p>"The train ought to be here now," said George Witherspoon, looking at +his watch.</p> + +<p>"Do you know exactly what train he is coming on?" his wife asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes; he telegraphed again from Memphis."</p> + +<p>"You didn't tell me you'd got another telegram."</p> + +<p>"My dear, I thought I did. The truth is that I've been so rushed and +stirred up for the last day or so that I've hardly known what I was +about."</p> + +<p>"And I can scarcely realize now what I'm waiting for," said a young +woman. "Mother, you look as if you haven't slept any for a week."</p> + +<p>"And I don't feel as if I have."</p> + +<p>George Witherspoon, holder of the decisive note in the affairs of that +great department store known as "The Colossus," may not by design have +carried an air that would indicate the man to whom small tradesman +regarded it as a mark of good breeding to cringe, but even in a place +where his name was not known his appearance would strongly have +appealed to commercial confidence. That instinct which in earlier life +had prompted fearless speculation, now crystalized into conscious +force, gave unconscious authority to his countenance. He was tall and +with so apparent a strength in his shoulders as to suggest the thought +that with them he had shoved his way to success. He was erect and +walked with a firm step; he wore a heavy grayish mustache that turned +under; his chin had a forceful squareness; he was thin-haired, nearing +baldness. In his manner was a sort of firm affability, and his voice +was of that tone which success nearly always assumes, kindly, but with +a suggestion of impatience. His eyes were restless, as though +accustomed to keep watch over many things. When spoken to it was his +habit to turn quickly, and if occasion so warranted, to listen with +that pleasing though frosty smile which to the initiated means, "I +shall be terribly bored by any request that you may make, and shall +therefore be compelled to refuse it." He was sometimes liberal, though +rarely generous. If he showed that a large disaster touched his heart, +he could not conceal the fact that a lesser mishap simply fell upon +his irritated nerves; and therefore he might contribute to a stricken +city while refusing to listen to the distress of a family.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witherspoon was a dark-eyed little woman. In her earlier life she +must have been handsome, for in the expression of her face there was a +reminiscence of beauty. Her dimples had turned traitor to youth and +gossiped of coming age. Women are the first to show the contempt with +which wealth regards poverty, the first to turn with resentment upon +former friends who have been left in the race for riches, the first to +feel the overbearing spirit that money stirs; but this woman had not +lost her gentleness.</p> + +<p>The girl was about nineteen years of age. She was a picture of style, +delsarted to ease of motion. She was good-looking and had the whims +and the facial tricks that are put to rhyme and raved over in a +sweetheart, but which are afterward deplored in a wife.</p> + +<p>"I feel that I shan't know how to act."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon looked at his daughter and said, "Ellen."</p> + +<p>"But, papa, I just know I shan't. How should I know? I never met a +brother before; never even thought of such a thing."</p> + +<p>"Don't be foolish. We are not the only people that have been placed in +such a position. No matter how you may be situated, remember that you +are not a pioneer; no human strain is new."</p> + +<p>"But it's the only time <i>I</i> was ever placed in such a position."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense. In this life we must learn to expect anything." Mrs. +Witherspoon was silently weeping. "Caroline, don't, please. Remember +that we are not alone. A trial of joy, my dear, is the easiest trial +to bear."</p> + +<p>"Not always," she replied.</p> + +<p>A counter commotion in the general tumult—the train.</p> + +<p>A crowd waited outside the iron gate. A tall young man came through +with the hastening throng. He caught Witherspoon's wandering eye. +Strangers looking for each other are guided by a peculiar instinct, +but Witherspoon stood questioning that instinct. The mother could see +nothing with distinctness. The young man held up a gold chain.</p> + +<p>It was soon over. People who were hastening toward a train turned to +look upon a flurry of emotion—a mother faint with joy; a strong man +stammering words of welcome; a girl seemingly thrilled with a new +prerogative; a stranger in a nest of affection.</p> + +<p>"Come, let us get into the carriage," said Witherspoon. "Come, +Caroline, you have behaved nobly, and don't spoil it all now."</p> + +<p>She gave her husband a quick though a meek glance and took Henry's +arm. When the others had seated themselves in the carriage, +Witherspoon stood for a moment on the curb-stone.</p> + +<p>"Drive to the Colossus," he commanded. Mrs. Witherspoon put out her +hand with a pleading gesture. "You are not going there before you go +home, are you, dear?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I am compelled to go there, but I'll stay only a moment or two," he +answered. "I'll simply hop out for a minute and leave the rest of you +in the carriage. There's something on hand that needs my attention at +once. Drive to the Colossus," he said as he stepped into the carriage. +A moment later he remarked: "Henry, you are different from what I +expected. I thought you were light."</p> + +<p>"He is just like my mother's people," Mrs. Witherspoon spoke up. "All +the Craigs were dark."</p> + +<p>They drove on in a silence not wholly free from embarrassment. Through +the carriage windows Henry caught glimpses of a world of hurry. The +streets, dark and dangerous with traffic, stretched far away and +ended in a cloud of smoke. "It will take time to realize all this," +the young men mused, and meeting the upturned eyes of Mrs. +Witherspoon, who had clasped her hands over his shoulder, he said:</p> + +<p>"Mother, I hope you are not disappointed in me."</p> + +<p>"You are just like the Craigs," she insisted. "They were dark. And +Uncle Louis was so dark that he might have been taken for an Italian, +and Uncle Harvey"—She hesitated and glanced at her husband.</p> + +<p>"What were you going to say about your Uncle Harvey?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, only he was dark just like all the Craigs."</p> + +<p>There is a grunt which man borrowed from the goat, or which, indeed, +the goat may have borrowed from man. And this grunt, more than could +possibly be conveyed by syllabic utterance, expresses impatience. +Witherspoon gave this goat-like grunt, and Henry knew that he had +heard of the Craigs until he was sick of their dark complexion. He +knew, also, that the great merchant had not a defensive sense of +humor, for humor, in the exercise of its kindly though effective +functions, would long ago have put these Craigs to an unoffending +death.</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you turn aside to talk of complexion when the whole +situation is so odd," said Ellen, speaking to her father. "I am +not able to bring myself down to a realization of it yet, although +I have been trying to ever since we got that letter from that +good-for-nothing country, away off yonder. You must know that it +strikes me differently from what it does any one else. It is all +romance with me—pure romance."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon said nothing, but his wife replied: "It isn't romance +with me; it is an answer to a prayer that my heart has been beating +year after year."</p> + +<p>"But don't cry, mother," said Ellen. "Your prayer has been answered."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know that, but look at the long, long years of separation, and +now he comes back to me a stranger."</p> + +<p>"But we shall soon be well acquainted," Henry replied, "and after a +while you may forget the long years of separation."</p> + +<p>"I hope so, my son, or at least I hope to be able to remember them +without sorrow. But didn't you, at times, fancy that you remembered +me? Couldn't you recall my voice?" Her lips trembled.</p> + +<p>"No," he answered, slowly shaking his head. This was the cause for +more tears. She had passed completely out of his life. Ah, the tender, +the hallowed egotism of a mother's love!</p> + +<p>The carriage drew up to the sidewalk, and the driver threw open the +door. "I'll be back in just a minute," said Witherspoon, as he got +out; and when he was gone his wife began to apologize for him. "He's +always so busy. I used to think that the time might come when he could +have more leisure, but it hasn't."</p> + +<p>"What an immense place!" said Henry, looking out.</p> + +<p>"One of the very largest in the world," Ellen replied. "And the +loveliest silks and laces you ever saw." A few moments later she said: +"Here comes father."</p> + +<p>"Drive out Michigan," Witherspoon commanded. They were whirled away +and had not gone far when the merchant, directing Henry's attention, +said:</p> + +<p>"The Auditorium."</p> + +<p>"The what?"</p> + +<p>"The Auditorium. Is it possible you never heard of it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I remember now. It was formally opened by the President."</p> + +<p>He did remember it; he remembered having edited telegraph for a +newspaper on the night when Patti's voice was first heard in this +great home of music.</p> + +<p>"Biggest theater in the world," said Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"Bigger than La Scala of Milan?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"Beats anything in the world, and I remember when the ground could +have been bought for—see that lot over there?" he broke off, +pointing. "I bought that once for eighty dollars a foot and sold it +for a hundred."</p> + +<p>"Pretty good sale! wasn't it?" Henry innocently asked.</p> + +<p>"Good sale! What do you suppose it's worth now!"</p> + +<p>"I have no idea."</p> + +<p>"Three thousand a foot if it's worth a penny. There never was anything +like it since the world began. I'm not what you might call an +old-timer, but I've seen some wonderful changes here. Now, this land +right here—fifteen hundred a foot; could have bought it not so very +long ago for fifty. I tell you the world never saw anything like it. +Why, just think of it; there are men now living who could have bought +the best corner in this city for a mere song. There's no other town +like this. Look at the buildings. When a man has lived here a while he +can't live in any other town—any other town is too slow for him—and +yet I heard an old man say that he could have got all the land he +wanted here for a yoke of oxen."</p> + +<p>"But he hadn't the oxen, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Of coarse he had," Witherspoon replied, "but who wanted to exchange +useful oxen for a useless mud-hole? Beats anything in this world."</p> + +<p>Henry looked at him in astonishment. His tongue, which at first had +seemed to be so tight with silence, was now so loose with talk. He had +dropped no hint of his own importance; he had made not the slightest +allusion to the energy and ability that had been required to build his +mammoth institution. His impressive dignity was set aside; he was +blowing his town's horn.</p> + +<p>The carriage turned into Prairie Avenue. "Look at all this," +Witherspoon continued, waving his hand. "I remember when it didn't +deserve the name of a street. Look at that row of houses. Built by a +man that used to drive a team. There's a beauty going up. Did you ever +see anything like it?"</p> + +<p>"I can well say that I never have," Henry answered.</p> + +<p>"I should think not," said Witherspoon, and pointing to the +magnificent home of some obscure man, he added: "I remember when an +old shed stood there. Just look at that carving in front."</p> + +<p>"Who lives there?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"Did hear, but have forgotten. Yonder's one of green stone. I don't +like that so well. Here we have a sort of old stone. That house looks +as though it might be a hundred years old, but it was put up last +year. Well, here's our house."</p> + +<p>The carriage drew up under the porte-cocher of a mansion built of +cobble-stones. It was as strong as a battlement, but its outlines +curved in obedience to gracefulness and yielded to the demand of +striking effect. Viewed from one point it might have been taken for a +castle; from another, it suggested itself as a spireless church. +Strangers halted to gaze at it; street laborers looked at it in +admiration. It was showy in a neighborhood of mansions.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witherspoon led Henry to the threshold and tremulously kissed +him. And it was with this degree of welcome that the wanderer was +shown into his home.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII" />CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>A MOTHER'S AFFECTION.</h3> + + +<p>In one bedazzled moment we review a whole night of darkness. A luxury +brings with it the memory of a privation. The first glimpse of those +drawing-rooms, gleaming with white and warm with gold, were seen +against a black cloud, and that cloud was the past. The wanderer was +startled; there was nothing now to turn aside the full shock of his +responsibilities. He felt the enormity of his pretense, and he began +again to pick at his motive. Mrs. Witherspoon perceived a change in +him and anxiously asked if he were ill. No, but now that his long +journey was ended he felt worn by it. The father saw him with a fresh +criticism and said that he looked older than his years bespoke him; +but the mother, quick in every defense, insisted that he had gone +through enough to make any one look old; and besides, the Craigs, +being a thoughtful people, always looked older than they really were. +In the years that followed, this first day "at home" was reviewed in +all its memories—the library with its busts of old thinkers and its +bright array of new books; the sober breakfast-room in which luncheon +was served; the orderly servants; the plants; the gold fishes; the +heavy hangings; a tiger skin with a life-expressive head; the +portraits of American statesmen; the rich painting of a cow that +flashed back the tradition of a trade-mark bull on a dead wall.</p> + +<p>Evening came with melody in the music-room; midnight, and Henry sat +alone in his room. He was heavy with sadness. The feeling that +henceforth his success must depend upon the skill of his hypocrisy, +and that he must at last die a liar, lay upon him with cold +oppression. Kindness was a reproach and love was a censure. Some one +tapped at the door.</p> + +<p>"Come in."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witherspoon entered. "I just wanted to see if you were +comfortable," she said, seating herself in a rocking-chair.</p> + +<p>"So much so that I am tempted to rebel against it," he answered.</p> + +<p>She smiled sadly. "There are so many things that I wanted to say to +you, dear, but I haven't had a chance, somehow."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were tear-stricken and her voice trembled. "It isn't possible +that you could know what a mother's love is, my son."</p> + +<p>"I <i>didn't</i> know, but you have taught me."</p> + +<p>"No, not yet; but I will—if you'll let me."</p> + +<p>"If I'll let you?" He looked at her in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you will bear with me. Sit here," she said, tapping the broad +arm of the chair. He obeyed, and she took his arms and put them about +her neck. "There hasn't been much love in my life, precious. Perhaps I +am not showy enough, not strong enough for the place I occupy."</p> + +<p>"But you are good enough to hold the place of an angel."</p> + +<p>She attempted to speak, but failed. Something fell on her hand, and +she looked up. The man was weeping. They sat there in silence.</p> + +<p>"In your early life," she said, pressing his arms closer about her +neck, "my love sought to protect you, but now it must turn to you for +support. Your uncle—but you told me not to speak of him." She paused +a moment, and then continued: "Your uncle did me a deep wrong, but I +had wronged him. Oh, I don't know why I did. And he had kept my +letters all these years." Another silence. She was the first to speak. +"Ellen loves me, but a daughter's love is more of a help than a +support."</p> + +<p>"And father?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is good and kind," she quickly answered, "but somehow I +haven't kept up with him. He is so strong, and I fear that my nature +is too simple; I haven't force enough to help him when he's worried. +He hasn't said so, but I know it! And of course you don't understand +me yet; but won't you bear with me?"</p> + +<p>In her voice there was a sad pleading for love, and this man, though +playing a part, dropped the promptings of his role, and with the +memory of his own mother strong within him, pressed this frail woman +to his bosom and with tender reverence kissed her.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she sobbed, "I thank God for bringing you back to me. Good +night."</p> + +<p>He closed the door when she was gone, and stood as though he knew not +whither to turn. He looked at the onyx clock ticking on the +mantelpiece. He listened to the rumble of a carriage in the street. He +put out his hands, and going slowly into his sleeping-room, sank upon +his knees at the bedside.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII" />CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE DOMAIN OF A GREAT MERCHANT.</h3> + + +<p>To one who has gazed for many hours upon whirling scenes, and who at +his journey's end has gone to sleep in an unfamiliar place, the +question of self-identity presents itself at morning and of the dozing +faculties demands an answer. Henry lay in bed, catching at flitting +consciousness, but missing it. He tried to recall his own name, but +could not. One moment he felt that he was on board a ship, rising and +sinking with the mood of the sea; then he was on a railway train, +catching sight of a fence that streaked its way across a field. He saw +a boy struggling with a horse that was frightened at the train; he saw +a girl wave her beflowered hat—a rushing woods, a whirling open +space, a sleepy station. Once he fancied that he was a child lying in +bed, not at midnight, but at happy, bird-chattered morning, when the +sun was bright; but then he heard a roar and he saw a street stretch +out into a darkening distance, and he knew that he was in a great +city. Consciousness loitered within reach, and he seized it. He was +called to breakfast.</p> + +<p>How bright the morning. Through the high and church-like windows +softened sunbeams fell upon the stairway. He heard Ellen singing in +the music-room; he met the rich fragrance of coffee. Mrs. Witherspoon, +with a smile of quiet happiness, stood at the foot of the stairs. +Ellen came out with a lithe skip and threw a kiss at him. Witherspoon +sat in the breakfast-room reading a morning newspaper.</p> + +<p>"Well, my son, how do you find yourself this morning?" the merchant +asked, throwing aside the newspaper and stretching himself back in his +chair.</p> + +<p>"First-rate; but I had quite a time placing myself before I was fully +awake."</p> + +<p>"I guess that's true of nearly everybody who comes to Chicago. It +makes no difference how wide-awake a man thinks he is, he will find +when he comes to this city that he has been nodding."</p> + +<p>Breakfast was announced. Ellen took Henry's hand and said: "Come, this +is your place here by me. Mother told me to sit near you; she wants me +to check any threatened outbreak of your foreign peculiarities."</p> + +<p>"Ellen, what do you mean? I didn't say anything of the sort, Henry. It +could make no difference where my mother's people were brought up. The +Craigs always knew how to conduct themselves."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," Witherspoon spoke up, "the Craigs were undoubtedly all +right, but we are dealing with live issues now. Henry, we'll go down +to the store this morning"—</p> + +<p>"So soon?" his wife interrupted.</p> + +<p>"So soon?" the merchant repeated. "What do you mean by so soon? Won't +it be time to go?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"And where do I come in?" asked the girl.</p> + +<p>"You can go if you insist," said Witherspoon, "but there are matters +that he and I must arrange at once. We've got to fix up some sort of +statement for the newspapers; can't keep this thing a secret, you +know, and a tailor must be consulted. Your clothes are all right, my +son," he quickly added, "but—well, you understand."</p> + +<p>Henry understood, but he had thought when he left New Orleans that he +was well dressed. And now for a moment he felt ragged.</p> + +<p>"When shall we have the reception?" Ellen asked.</p> + +<p>"The reception," Henry repeated, looking up in alarm.</p> + +<p>"Why, listen to him," the girl cried. "Don't you know that we must +give a reception? Why, we couldn't get along without it; society would +cut us dead. Think how nice it will be—invitations with 'To meet Mr. +Henry Witherspoon' on them."</p> + +<p>"Must I go through that?" Henry asked, appealing to Mrs. Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"Of course you must, but not until the proper time."</p> + +<p>"Why, it will be just splendid," the girl declared. "You ought to have +seen me the night society smiled and said, 'Well, we will now permit +you to be one of us.' Oh, the idea of not showing you off, now that +we've caught you, is ridiculous. You needn't appeal to mother. You +couldn't keep her from parading you up and down in the presence of her +friends."</p> + +<p>He was looking at Mrs. Witherspoon. She smiled with more of humor than +he had seen her face express, and thus delivered her opinion: "If we +had no reception, people would think that we were ashamed of our son."</p> + +<p>"All right, mother; if you want your friends to meet the wild man of +Borneo who has just come to town, I have nothing more to say. Your +word shall be a law with me; but I must tell you that whenever you +make arrangements into which I enter, you must remember that society +and I have had scarcely a hat-tipping acquaintance. I may know many +things that society never even dreamed of, but some of society's +simplest phases are dangerous mysteries to me."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said Witherspoon. "Society may rule a poor man, but a rich +man rules society. Common sense always commands respect, for nearly +every rule that governs the conduct of man is founded upon it. Don't +you worry about the reception or anything else. You are a man of the +world, and to such a man society is a mere plaything."</p> + +<p>"Well," replied Ellen, wrinkling her handsome brow with a frown, "I +must say that you preach an odd sort of sermon. Society is supposed to +hold the culture and the breeding of a community, sir."</p> + +<p>"Yes, supposed to," Witherspoon agreed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, if you question it I won't argue with you." And giving +Henry a meaning look, she continued: "Of course business is first. Art +drops on its worn knees and prays to business, and literature begs it +for a mere nod. Everything is the servant of business."</p> + +<p>"Everything in Chicago is," the merchant replied.</p> + +<p>"Art is the old age of trade," said Henry. "A vigorous nation buys and +sells and fights; but a nation that is threatened with decay paints +and begs."</p> + +<p>"Good!" Witherspoon exclaimed. "I think you've hit it squarely. Since +we went to Europe, Ellen has had an idea that trade is rather low in +the scale of human interest."</p> + +<p>"Now, father, I haven't any such idea, and you know it, too. But I do +think that people who spend their lives in getting money can't be as +refined as those who have a higher aim."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon grunted. "What do you call a higher aim? Hanging about a +picture gallery and simpering over a lot of long-haired fellows in +outlandish dress, ha? Is it refinement to worship a picture simply +because you are not able to buy it? Some people rave over art, and we +buy it and hang it up at home."</p> + +<p>She laughed, and slipping off her chair, ran round to her father and +put her arms about his neck. "I can always stir you up, can't I?"</p> + +<p>"You can when you talk that way," he answered.</p> + +<p>"But you know I don't mean that you aren't refined. Who could be more +gentle than you are? But you must let me enjoy an occasional mischief. +My mother's people, the Craigs, were all full of mischief, and"</p> + +<p>"Ellen," said her mother.</p> + +<p>Witherspoon laughed, and reaching back, pretended to pull the girl's +ears. "Am I going down town with you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No, not this morning. I'm going to drive Henry down in the light +buggy. My boy, I've got as fine a span of bay horses as you ever saw. +Cost me five thousand apiece. That's art for you; eh, Ellen?"</p> + +<p>"They are beautiful," she admitted.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and strung up with pride. Get ready, Henry, and we'll go."</p> + +<p>When Witherspoon gathered up the lines and with the whip touched one +of the horses, both jumped as though startled by the same impulse.</p> + +<p>"There's grace for you," said Witherspoon. "Look how they plant their +fore feet."</p> + +<p>Henry did not answer. He was looking back at a palace, his home; and +he, too, was touched with a whip—the thrilling whip of pride. It +lasted but a moment. His memory threw up a home for the friendless, +and upon a background of hunger, squalor and wretchedness his fancy +flashed the picture of an Italian hag, crooning and toothless.</p> + +<p>"We'll turn into Michigan here," said the merchant. "Isn't this a +great thoroughfare? Yonder is where we lived before we built our new +house. Just think what this will be when these elms are old." They +sped along the smooth drive. "Ho, boys! Business is creeping out this +way, and that is the reason I got over on Prairie. See, that man has +turned his residence into a sort of store. A little farther along you +will see fashionable humbuggery of all sorts. These are women fakes +along here. Ho, boys, ho! There's where old man Colton lives. We'll +meet him at the store. In the Colossus Company he is next to me. Smart +old fellow, but he worked many years in the hammer-and-tongs way, and +he probably never would have done much if he hadn't been shoved. Ho, +boys, <i>ho</i>! People ought to be arrested for piling brick in the street +this way. Colton was always afraid of venturing; shuddered at the +thought of risking his money; wanted it where he could lay his hands +on it at any time. Brooks, his son-in-law, is a sort of general +manager over our entire establishment, and he is one of the most +active and useful men I ever saw—bright, quick, characteristically +American. I think you'll like him. That place over there"—cutting his +whip toward an old frame house scalloped and corniced in fantastic +flimsiness—"was sold the other day at about thirty per cent more than +it would have brought a few years ago."</p> + +<p>They turned into another street and were taken up, it seemed, by the +swift trade currents that swirl at morning, rush through the noon, +glide past the evening and rest for a time in the semi-calm of +midnight. Chicago has begun to set the pace of a nervous nation's +progress. It is a city whose growth has proved a fatal example to many +an overweaning town. Materialistic, it holds no theory that points not +to great results; adventurous, it has small patience with methods that +slowness alone has stamped as legitimate. Worshiping a deification of +real estate, and with a rude aristocracy building upon the blood of +the sow and the tallow of the bull, its atmosphere discourages one +artist while inviting another to rake up the showered rewards of a +"boom" patronage. Feeling that naught but sleepiness and sloth should +be censured, it resents even a kindly criticism. Quick to recognize +the feasibility of a scheme; giving money, but holding time as a +sacred inheritance. It is a re-gathering of the forces that peopled +America and then made her great among nations; a mighty community with +a growing literary force and with its culture and its real love for +the beautiful largely confined to the poor in purse; grand in a +thousand respects; with its history glaring upon the black sky of +night; with the finest boulevards in America and the filthiest +alleys—a giant in need of a bath.</p> + +<p>The Colossus stood as a towering island with "a tide in the affairs of +men" sweeping past. And it seemed to Henry that the buggy was cast +ashore as a piece of driftwood that touches land and finds a lodgment. +At an earlier day, and not so long ago either, the flaw of unconscious +irony might have been picked in the name Colossus, but now the +establishment, covering almost a block and rising story upon story, +filled in the outlines of its pretentious christening.</p> + +<p>"Tap, tap, tap—cash, 46; tap, tap—cash, 63," was the leading strain +in this din of extensive barter and petty transaction. The Colossus +boasted that it could meet every commercial demand; supply a +sewing-machine needle or set up a saw-mill; receipt for gas bills and +water rates or fit out a general store. Under one roof it held the +resources of a city. Henry was startled by its immensity, and as he +followed Witherspoon through labyrinths of bright gauzes and avenues +of somber goods, he perceived that a change in the tone of the hum +announced the approach of the master. And it appeared that, no matter +what a girl might be doing, she began hurriedly to do something else +the moment she spied Witherspoon coming toward her. The quick signs of +flirtation, signals along the downward track of morality, subsided +whenever this ruler came within sight; and the smirk bargain-counter +miss would actually turn from the grinning idiocy of the bullet-headed +fellow who had come in to admire her and would deign to wait on a +poorly dressed woman who had failed to attract her attention.</p> + +<p>The offices of the management were on the first floor, and Henry was +conducted thither and shown into Witherspoon's private apartment—into +the calico, bombazine, hardware and universal nick-nack holy of +holies. The room was not fitted up for show, but for business. Its +furniture consisted mainly of a roll-top desk, a stamp with its handle +sticking up like the tail of an excited cat, a dingy carpet and +several chairs of a shape so ungenial to the human form as to suggest +that a hint at me desirability of a visitor's early withdrawal might +have been incorporated in their construction.</p> + +<p>"I will see if Colton has come down," Witherspoon remarked, glancing +through a door into another room. "Yes, there he is. He's coming. Mr. +Colton," said Witherspoon, with deep impressiveness, "this is my son +Henry."</p> + +<p>The old man bowed with a politeness in which there was a reminder of a +slower and therefore a more courteous day, and taking the hand which +Henry cordially offered him, said: "To meet you affects me profoundly, +sir. Of course I am acquainted with your early history, and this adds +to the interest I feel in you; but aside from this, to meet a son of +George Witherspoon must necessarily give me great pleasure."</p> + +<p>"Brother Colton is from Maryland," Witherspoon remarked, and a sudden +shriveling about the old man's mouth told that he was smiling at what +he had long since learned to believe was a capital hit of playfulness. +And he bowed, grabbled up a dingy handkerchief that dangled from him +somewhere, wiped off his shriveled smile, and then declared that if +frankness was a mark of the Marylander, he should always be glad to +acknowledge his native State.</p> + +<p>Brooks, Colton's son-in-law, now came in. This man, while a +floor-walker in a dry-goods store, had attracted Witherspoon's notice, +and a position in the Colossus, at that time an experiment, was given +him. He recognized the demands of his calling, and he strove to fit +himself to them. Several years later he married Miss Colton, and now +he was in a position of such confidence that many schemes for the +broadening of trade and for the pleasing of the public's changeful +fancy were entrusted to his management. He was of a size which +appears to set off clothes to the best advantage. His face was pale +and thoughtful, and he had the shrewd faculty of knowing when to +smile. His eyes were of such a bulge as to give him a spacious range +of vision without having to turn his head, and while moving about in +the discharge of his duty, he often saw sudden situations that were +not intended for his entertainment.</p> + +<p>Brooks was prepared for the meeting, and conducted himself with a +dignity that would have cast no discredit upon the ablest floor-walker +in Christendom. He had known that he could not fail to be impressed by +one so closely allied by blood to Mr. George Witherspoon, but really +he had not expected to meet a man of so distinguished a bearing, a +traveler and a scholar, no doubt.</p> + +<p>"Traveler enough to know that I have seen but little, and scholar +enough to feel my ignorance," Henry replied.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you do yourself an injustice, I am sure, but you do it +gracefully. We shall meet often, of course. Mr. Witherspoon," he +added, addressing the head of the Colossus, "we have just arrested +that Mrs. McNutt."</p> + +<p>"How's that? What Mrs. McNutt?"</p> + +<p>"Why, the woman who was suspected of shop-lifting. This time we caught +her in the act."</p> + +<p>"Ah, hah. Have you sent her away?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet. She begs for an interview with you—says she can explain +everything."</p> + +<p>"Don't want to see her; let her explain to the law."</p> + +<p>"That's what I told her, sir."</p> + +<p>Brooks bowed and withdrew. Old man Colton was already at his desk.</p> + +<p>"Now, my son," said Witherspoon, aimlessly fumbling with some papers +on his desk, "I should think that the first thing to be attended to is +that statement for the newspapers. Wait a moment, and we will consult +Brooks. He knows more in that line than any one else about the place." +He tapped a bell. "Mr. Brooks," he said when a boy appeared. Brooks +came, and Witherspoon explained.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see," said Brooks. "You don't want to give it to any one paper, +for that isn't business. We'll draw off a statement and send it to the +City Press Association, and then it will be given out to all the +papers."</p> + +<p>"That is a capital idea; you will help us get it up."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Brooks, bowing.</p> + +<p>"That will not be necessary," Henry protested, unable to disguise his +disapproval of the arrangement. "I can write it in a very short time."</p> + +<p>"Ah," Witherspoon replied, "but Brooks is used to such work. He writes +our advertisements."</p> + +<p>"But this isn't an advertisement, and I prefer to write it."</p> + +<p>"Of course, if you can do it satisfactorily, but I should think that +it would be better if done by a practiced hand."</p> + +<p>"I think so too," Henry rejoined, "and for that reason I recommend my +own hand. I have worked on newspapers."</p> + +<p>"That so? It may be fortunate so far as this one instance is +concerned, but as a general thing I shouldn't recommend it. Newspaper +men have such loose methods, as a rule, that they never accomplish +much when they turn their attention to business."</p> + +<p>Henry laughed, but the merchant had spoken with such seriousness that +he was not disposed to turn it off with a show of mirth. His face +remained thoughtful, and he said: "We had several newspaper men about +here, and not one of them amounted to anything. Brooks, your services +will not be needed. In fact, two of them were dishonest," he added, +when Brooks had quitted the room. "They were said to be good newspaper +men, too. One of them came with 'Journalist' printed on his card; had +solicited advertisements for nearly every paper in town. They were all +understood to be good solicitors."</p> + +<p>"What," said Henry, "were they simply advertising solicitors?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes; and they were said to be good ones."</p> + +<p>"But you must know, sir, that an advertising solicitor is not a +newspaper man. It makes me sick—I beg your pardon. But it does rile +me to hear that one of these fellows has called himself a newspaper +man. Of course there are honest and able men in that employment, but +they are not to be classed with men whose learning, judgment and +strong mental forces make a great newspaper."</p> + +<p>So new a life sprang into his voice, and so strong a conviction +emphasized his manner, that Witherspoon, for the first time, looked on +him with a sort of admiration.</p> + +<p>"Well, you seem to be loaded on this subject."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but not offensively so, I hope. Now, give me the points you want +covered."</p> + +<p>"All right; sit here."</p> + +<p>Henry took Witherspoon's chair; the merchant walked up and down the +room. The points were agreed upon, and the writer was getting well +along with his work when Witherspoon suddenly paused in his walk and +said to some one outside: "Show him in here."</p> + +<p>A pale and restless-looking young man with green neckwear entered the +room. "Now, sir," the merchant demanded somewhat sharply, "what do you +want with me? You have been here three or four times, I understand. +What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"We are not alone," the young man answered, glancing at Henry.</p> + +<p>"State your business or get out."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's rather a delicate matter, sir, and I didn't want anything +to do with it, but we don't always have our own way, you know. Er—the +editor of the paper"—</p> + +<p>"What paper?"</p> + +<p>"The <i>Weekly Call</i>. The editor sent me with instructions to ask you if +this is true?"</p> + +<p>He handed a proof-slip to the merchant, and Henry saw Witherspoon's +face darken as he read it. The next moment the great merchant stormed: +"There isn't a word of truth in it. It is an infamous lie from start +to finish."</p> + +<p>"I told him I didn't think it was true," said the young man, "but he +talked as if he believed it; remarked that you never advertised with +him anyway."</p> + +<p>"Advertise with him! Why, I didn't know until this minute that such a +paper existed. How much of an advertisement does he expect?"</p> + +<p>"Hold on a moment!" Henry cried. "Let me kick this fellow into the +street."</p> + +<p>"Nothing rash," said Witherspoon, putting out his hand. "Sit down, +Henry. It will be all right. It's something you don't understand." And +speaking to the visitor, he added: "Send me your rates."</p> + +<p>"I have them here, sir," he replied, shying out of Henry's reach. He +handed a card to Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"Let me see, now. Will half a column for a year be sufficient?"</p> + +<p>"Well, that's rather a small ad, sir."</p> + +<p>Henry got up again. "I think I'd better kick him into the street."</p> + +<p>"No, no; sit down there. Let me manage this. Here." The blackmailer +had retreated to the door. "You go back to your editor and tell him +that I will put in a column for one year. Wait. Has anybody seen +this?" he added, holding up the proof-slip.</p> + +<p>"Nobody, sir, and I will have the type distributed as soon as I get +back."</p> + +<p>"See that you do. Tell Brooks; he will send you the copy. Now get out. +Infamous scoundrel!" he said when the fellow was gone. "But don't say +anything about it at home, for it really amounts to nothing."</p> + +<p>He tore the proof-slip into small fragments and threw them into the +spittoon.</p> + +<p>"What is it all about?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's the foulest of fabrication. About a year ago there came a +widow from Washington with a letter from one of our friends, and asked +for a position in the store. Well, we gave her employment, and—and it +is about her; but it really amounts to nothing."</p> + +<p>"Why, then, didn't you let me kick the scoundrel into the street?"</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, to a man who has the money it is easier to pay than to +explain. The public is greedy for scandal, but looks with suspicion +and coldness upon a correction. One is sweet; the other is tasteless. +The rapid acquisition of wealth is associated with some mysterious +crime, and men who have failed in wild speculations are the first to +cry out against the millionaire. The rich man must pay for the +privilege of being rich."</p> + +<p>The statement was sent to the city press. It reminded the public of +the abduction of Henry Witherspoon; touched upon the sensation created +at the time, and upon the long season of interest that had followed; +explained the part which the uncle had played, and delicately gave his +cause for playing it. And the return of the wanderer was set forth +with graphic directness.</p> + +<p>At noon the merchant and Henry ate luncheon in a club where thick rugs +hushed a foot-fall into a mere whisper of a walk, where servants, +grave of countenance and low of voice, seemed to underscore the +chilliness of the place. Henry was introduced to a number of +astonished men, who said that they welcomed him home, and who +immediately began to talk about something else; and he was shown +through the large library, where a solitary man sat looking at the +pictures in a comic weekly. After leaving the club they went to a +tailor's shop, and then drove over the boulevards and through the +parks. Witherspoon, with no pronounced degree of pride, had conducted +Henry through the Colossus; he had been pleased, of course, at the +young man's astonishment, and he must have been moved by a strong +surge of self-glorification when his son wondered at the broadness of +the Witherspoon empire, yet he had held in a strong subjection all +signs of an unseemly pride. But when he struck the boulevard system, +his dignified reserve went to pieces.</p> + +<p>"Finest on earth; no doubt about that. Oh, of course, many years of +talk and thousands of pages of print have paved the Paris boulevards +with peculiar interest, but wipe out association, and where would they +be in comparison with these? Look at that stretch. And a few years ago +this land could have been picked up for almost nothing. Look at those +flowers."</p> + +<p>It was now past midsummmer, but no suggestion of a coming blight lay +upon the flower-beds. "Look at those trees. Why, in time they will +knock the New Haven elms completely out."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX" />CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>THE INTERVIEWERS.</h3> + + +<p>When they reached home at evening they found that five reporters had +been shown into the library and were waiting for them.</p> + +<p>"Glad to see you, gentlemen," said Witherspoon, smiling in his way of +pleasant dismissal, "but really that statement contains all that it is +necessary for the public to know. We don't want to make a sensation of +it, you understand."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," one of the newspaper men replied.</p> + +<p>"And," said the merchant, with another smile, "I don't know what else +can be said."</p> + +<p>But the smile had missed its aim. The attention of the visitors was +settled upon Henry. There was no chance for separate interviews, and +questions were asked by first one and then another.</p> + +<p>"You had no idea that your parents were alive?"</p> + +<p>"Not until after my uncle's death."</p> + +<p>"Had he ever told you why you were in his charge?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he said that at the death of my parents I had been given to +him."</p> + +<p>"You of course knew the story of the mysterious disappearance of Henry +Witherspoon."</p> + +<p>"Yes; when a boy I had read something about it."</p> + +<p>"In view of the many frauds that had been attempted, hadn't you a +fear that your father might he suspicious of you?"</p> + +<p>"No; I had forwarded letters and held proof that could not be +disputed. The mystery was cleared up."</p> + +<p>"How old are you?"</p> + +<p>"I shall be twenty-five next—next"—</p> + +<p>"December the fourteenth," Witherspoon answered for him.</p> + +<p>"The truth is," said Henry, "uncle did not remember the exact date of +my birth."</p> + +<p>"Was your uncle a man of means?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I can hardly say that he was. He speculated considerably, and +though he was never largely successful, yet he always managed to live +well."</p> + +<p>"Were you engaged in any sort of employment?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, at different times I was a reporter."</p> + +<p>"It is not necessary that the public should know all this," said +Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"But we can't help it," Henry replied. "The statement we sent out +would simply serve to hone and strap public curiosity to a keen edge. +I expected something of this sort. The only thing to do is to get +through with it as soon as we can."</p> + +<p>When the interview was ended Henry went to the front door with the +reporters, and at parting said to them: "I hope to see you again, +gentlemen, and doubtless I shall. I am one of you."</p> + +<p>At dinner that evening Witherspoon was in high spirits. He joked—a +recreation rare with him—and he told a story—a mental excursion of +marked uncommonness.</p> + +<p>"What, Henry, don't you drink wine at all?" the merchant asked.</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I stand in mortal fear of it." The vision of a drunken +painter, he always fancied, hung like a fog between him and the liquor +glass.</p> + +<p>"It's well enough, my son."</p> + +<p>"None of the Craigs were drunkards," said Ellen, giggling.</p> + +<p>"Ellen," Mrs. Witherspoon solemnly enjoined, "my mother's people shall +not be made sport of. It is true that there were no drunkards among +them. And why?"</p> + +<p>"Because none of them got drunk, I should think," Henry ventured to +suggest.</p> + +<p>"That, of course, was one reason, my son, but the main reason was that +they knew how to govern themselves."</p> + +<p>The evening flew away with music and with talk of a long ago made +doubly dear by present happiness. The hour was growing late. +Witherspoon and Henry sat in the library, smoking. Ellen had gone to +her room to draft a form for the invitation to Henry's reception, and +Mrs. Witherspoon was on a midnight prowl throughout the house, and +although knowing that everything was right, yet surprised to find it +so.</p> + +<p>"Now, my boy," said the merchant, "we will talk business. Your mother, +and particularly your sister, thought it well for me to make you an +allowance, and while I don't object to the putting of money aside for +you, yet I should rather have you feel the manliness which comes of +drawing a salary for services rendered. That is more American. You see +how useful Brooks has made himself. Now, why can't you work yourself +into a similar position? In the future, the charge of the entire +establishment may devolve upon you. All that a real man wants is a +chance, and such a chance as I now urge upon you falls to the lot of +but few young men. Had such an opportunity been given to me when I was +young, I should have regarded myself as one specially favored by the +partial goddess of fortune."</p> + +<p>He was now walking up and down the room. He spoke with fervor, and +Henry saw how strong he was and wondered not at his great success.</p> + +<p>"I don't often resort to figures of speech," Witherspoon continued, +"but even the most practical man feels sometimes that illustration is +a necessity. Words are the trademarks of the goods stored in the mind, +and a flashy expression proclaims the flimsy trinket."</p> + +<p>Was his unwonted indulgence in wine at dinner playing rhetorical +tricks with his mind?</p> + +<p>"I spoke just now of the partial goddess of fortune," the merchant +continued, "in the hope that I might impress you with a deplorable +truth. Fortune is vested with a peculiar discrimination. It appears +more often to favor the unjust than the just. Ability and a life of +constant wooing do not always win success, for luck, the factotum of +fortune, often bestows in one minute a success which a life-time of +stubborn toil could not have achieved. Therefore, I say to you, think +well of your position, and instead of drawing idly upon your great +advantage, add to it. Successful men are often niggardly of advice, +while the prattling tongue nearly always belongs to failure; +therefore, when a successful man does advise, heed him. I think that I +should have succeeded in nearly any walk of life. Sturdy New England +stock, the hard necessity for thrift, and the practical common school +fitted me to push my way to the front. Don't think that I am boasting. +It is no more of vanity for one to say 'I have succeeded' than to say +'I will succeed.'" He paused a moment and stood near Henry's chair. +"You have the chance to become what I cannot be—one of the wealthiest +men in this country." He sat down, and leaning back in his +leather-covered chair, stretched forth his legs and crossed his +slippered feet. He looked at Henry.</p> + +<p>"To some men success is natural, and to others it is impossible," +Henry replied. "I can well see that prosperity could not long have +kept beyond your reach. Your mind led you in a certain direction, and +instead of resisting, you gladly followed it. You say that you should +have been a success in any walk of life, and while it is true that you +would have made money, it does not follow that you would have found +that contentment which is beyond all earthly price. I admit that the +opportunity which you offer me is one of rarest advantage, but knowing +myself, I feel that in accepting it I should be doing you an +injustice. It may be so strange to you that you can't understand it, +yet I haven't a single commercial instinct; and to be frank with you, +that great store would be a penitentiary to me. Wait a moment." +Witherspoon had bounded to his feet. "I am willing to do almost +anything," Henry continued, "but I can't consent to a complete +darkening of my life. I admit that I am peculiar, and shall not +dispute you in your belief that my mind is not strong, but I am firm +when it comes to purpose. To hear one say that he doesn't care to be +the richest man in the country may strike you as the utterance of a +fool, and yet I am compelled to say it. I don't want you to make me an +allowance. I don't want"—</p> + +<p>"What in God's name do you want, sir!" Witherspoon exclaimed. He was +walking up and down the room, not with the regular paces which had +marked his stroll a few moments before, but with the uneven tread of +anger. "What in God's name can you ask?"</p> + +<p>He turned upon Henry, and standing still, gave him a look of hard +inquiry.</p> + +<p>"I ask nothing in God's name, and surely nothing in my own. I knew +that this would put you out, and I dreaded it, but it had to come. +Suppose that at my age the opportunity to manage a cattle ranch had +been offered you."</p> + +<p>"I would have taken it; I would have made it the biggest cattle ranch +in the country. It galls me, sir, it galls me to see my own children +sticking up their noses at honest employment."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, but so far as I am concerned you are wrong. I seek honest +employment. But what is the most honest employment? Any employment +that yields an income? No; but the work that one is best fitted for +and which is therefore the most satisfactory. If you had shaped my +early life"—</p> + +<p>"Andrew was a fool!" Witherspoon broke in. "He was crazy."</p> + +<p>"But he was something of a gentleman, sir."</p> + +<p>"Gentleman!" Witherspoon snorted; "he was the worst of all thieves—a +child-stealer."</p> + +<p>"And had you been entirely blameless, sir?"</p> + +<p>"What! and do you reproach me? Now look here." He pointed a shaking +finger at Henry. "Don't you ever hint at such a thing again. My God, +this is disgraceful!" he muttered, resuming his uneven walk. "My hopes +were so built up. Now you knock them down. What the devil do you +want, sir!" he exclaimed, wheeling about.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you if you will listen."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, of course you will. It will no doubt do you great good to +humiliate me."</p> + +<p>"When you feel, sir, that I am humiliating you, one word is all you +need to say."</p> + +<p>"What's that? Come now, no foolish threats. What is it you want to +do?"</p> + +<p>"I have an idea," Henry answered, "that I could manage a newspaper."</p> + +<p>"The devil you have."</p> + +<p>"Yes, the devil I have, if you insist. I am a newspaper man and I like +the work. It holds a fascination for me while everything else is dull. +Now, I have a proposal to make, not a modest one, perhaps, but one +which I hope you will patiently consider—if you can. It would be easy +for you to get control of some afternoon newspaper. I can take charge +of it, and in time pay back the money you invest. I don't ask you to +give me a cent."</p> + +<p>The merchant was about to reply, when Mrs. Witherspoon entered the +room. "Why, what is the matter?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Witherspoon resumed his seat, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, +stretched forth his legs, crossed his feet and nervously shook them.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" she repeated.</p> + +<p>"Everything's the matter," Witherspoon declared. "I have +suggested"—he didn't say demanded—"that Henry should go into the +store and gradually take charge of the whole thing, and he positively +refuses. He wants to ran a newspaper." The merchant grunted and shook +his feet.</p> + +<p>"But is there anything so bad about that?" she asked. "I am sure it is +no more than natural. My uncle Louis used to write for the Salem +<i>Monitor</i>."</p> + +<p>He looked at her—he did not say a word, but he looked at her.</p> + +<p>"And Uncle Harvey"—</p> + +<p>He grunted, flounced out of his chair and quitted the room.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Henry, getting up and taking her hand, "I am grieved +that this dispute arose. I know that he is set in his ways, and it is +unfortunate that I was compelled to cross him, but it had to come +sooner or later."</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, but I don't blame you, my son. If you don't want to +go into the store, why should you?"</p> + +<p>They heard Witherspoon's jolting walk, up and down the hall.</p> + +<p>"You have but one life here on this earth," she said, "and I don't see +why you should make that one life miserable by engaging in something +that is distasteful to you. But if your father has a fault it is that +he believes every one should think as he does. Don't say anything more +to him to-night."</p> + +<p>When Henry went out Witherspoon was still walking up and down the +hall. They passed, but took not the slightest notice of each other. +How different from the night before. Henry lay awake, thinking of the +dead boy, and pictured his eternal sleeping-place, hard by the stormy +sea.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X" />CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>ROMPED WITH THE GIRL.</h3> + + +<p>The morning was heavy and almost breathless. The smoke of the city +hung low in the streets. Henry had passed through a dreamful and +uneasy sleep. He thought it wise to remain in his room until the +merchant was gone down town, and troublously he had begun to doze +again when Ellen's voice aroused him. "Come on down!" she cried, +tapping on the door. "You just ought to see what the newspapers have +said about you. Everybody in the neighborhood is staring at us. Come +on down."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon was sitting on a sofa with a pile of newspapers beside +him. He looked up as Henry entered, and in the expression of his face +there was no displeasure to recall the controversy of the night +before.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," said he, "they have given you a broad spread."</p> + +<p>The reporters had done their work well. It was a great sensation. +Henry was variously described. One report said that he had a +dreaminess of eye that was not characteristic of this strong, +pragmatic family; another declared him to be "tall, rather handsome, +black-bearded, and with the quiet sense of humor that belongs to the +temperament of a modest man." One reporter had noticed that his +Southern-cut clothes did not fit him.</p> + +<p>"He might have said something nicer than that," Ellen remarked, with +a natural protest against this undue familiarity.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why we should be spoken of as a pragmatic family," said +Mrs. Witherspoon. "Of course your father has always been in business, +but I don't see"—</p> + +<p>Witherspoon began to grunt. "It's all right," said he. "It's all +right." He had to say something. "Come, I must get down town."</p> + +<p>"Shall I go with you?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>For a moment Witherspoon was silent. "Not unless you want to," he +answered.</p> + +<p>They sat down to breakfast. Henry nervously expected another outbreak. +The merchant began to say something, but stopped on a half utterance +and cleared his throat. "It is coming," Henry thought.</p> + +<p>"I have studied over our talk of last night," said Witherspoon, "and +while I won't say that you may be right, or have any excuse for +presuming that you are right, I am inclined to indulge that wild +scheme of yours for a while. My impression is that you'll soon get +sick of it."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witherspoon looked at him thankfully. "And you will give him a +chance, father," she said.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I say I would? Isn't that exactly what I said? Gracious alive, +don't make me out a grinding and unyielding monster. We'll look round, +Henry, and see what can be done. Brooks may know of some opening. +You'd better rest here to-day."</p> + +<p>"I am deeply grateful, sir, for the concession you have made," Henry +replied. "I know how you feel on the subject, and I regret"—</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>"Regret that I was forced"—</p> + +<p>"I said it was all right."</p> + +<p>"Forced to oppose you, but I don't think that you'll have cause to +feel ashamed of me."</p> + +<p>"You have already made me feel proud of your manliness," said +Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>Henry bowed, and Mrs. Witherspoon gave her husband an impulsive look +of gratitude. The merchant continued:</p> + +<p>"You have refused my offer, but you have not presumed upon your own +position. Sincerity expects a reward, as a rule, and when a man is +sincere at his own expense, there is something about him to admire. +You don't prefer to live idly—to draw on me—and I should want no +stronger proof that you are, indeed, my son. It is stronger than the +gold chain you brought home with you, for that might have been found; +but manly traits are not to be picked up; they come of inheritance. +Well, I must go. I will speak to Brooks and see if anything can be +done."</p> + +<p>Rain began to fall. How full of restful meditation was this +dripping-time, how brooding with half-formed, languorous thoughts that +begin as an idea and end as a reverie. Sometimes a soothing spirit +which the sun could not evoke from its boundless fields of light comes +out of the dark bosom of a cloud. A bright day promises so much, so +builds our hopes, that our keenest disappointments seem to come on a +radiant morning, but on a dismal day, when nothing has been promised, +a straggling pleasure is accidentally found and is pressed the closer +to the senses because it was so unexpected.</p> + +<p>To Henry came the conviction that he was doing his duty, and yet he +could not at times subdue the feeling that pleasant environment was +the advocate that had urged this decision. But he refused to argue +with himself. Sometimes he strode after Mrs. Witherspoon as she went +about the house, and he knew that she was happy because be followed +her; and up and down the hall he romped with Ellen. They termed it a +frolic that they should have enjoyed years ago, and they laughingly +said that from the past they would snatch their separated childhood +and blend it now. It was a back-number pleasure, they agreed, but +that, like an old print, it held a charm in its quaintness. She +brought out a doll that had for years been asleep in a little blue +trunk. "Her name is Rose," she said, and with a broad ribbon she +deftly made a cap and put it on the doll's head. After a while Rose +was put to sleep again—the bright little mummy of a child's +affection, Henry called her—and the playmates became older. She told +him of the many suitors that had sought to woo her; of rich men; of +poor young fellows who strove to keep time to the quick-changing tune +of fashion; of moon-impressed youths who measured their impatient +yearning.</p> + +<p>"And when are you going to let one of them take you away?" Henry +asked. Holding his hand, she had led him in front of a mirror.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not at all," she answered, smiling at herself and then at him. "I +haven't fallen in love with anybody yet."</p> + +<p>"And is that necessary?"</p> + +<p>"Why, you know it is, goose. I'd be a pretty-looking thing to marry a +man I didn't love, wouldn't I?"</p> + +<p>"You are a pretty thing anyway."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do you really think so?"</p> + +<p>"I know it."</p> + +<p>"You are making fun of me. If you had met me accidentally, would you +have thought so?"</p> + +<p>"Surely; my eyes are always open to the truth."</p> + +<p>"If I could meet such a man as you are I could love him—'with a +dreaminess of eye not characteristic of this strong, pragmatic +family.'"</p> + +<p>She broke away from him, but he caught her. "If I were not related to +you," he said, "I would be tempted to kiss you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you'd be <i>tempted</i> to kiss me, would you? If you were not related +to me I wouldn't let you, but as it is—there!"</p> + +<p>His blood tingled. Her hair was falling about her shoulders. For a +moment it was a strife for him to believe that she was his sister.</p> + +<p>"Beautiful," he said, running his fingers through her hair. "Somebody +said that the glory of a woman is her hair; and it is true. It is a +glory that always catches me."</p> + +<p>"Does it? Well, I must put up my glory before papa comes. Oh, you are +such a romp; but I was just a little afraid of you at first, you were +so sedate and dreamy of eye."</p> + +<p>She ran away from him, and looking back with mischief in her eyes, she +hummed a schottish, and keeping time to it, danced up the stairway.</p> + +<p>When Witherspoon came to dinner he said that he had consulted Brooks +and that the resourceful manager knew of a possible opening.</p> + +<p>The owner of the <i>Star</i>, a politician who had been foolish enough to +suppose that with the control of an editorial page he could illumine +his virtues and throw darkness over his faults, was willing to part +with his experiment. "I think that we can get it at a very reasonable +figure," said Witherspoon. And after a moment's silence he added: +"Brooks can pull you a good many advertisements in a quiet way, and +possibly the thing may be made to turn oat all right. But I tell you +again that I am very much disappointed. Your place is with me—but we +won't talk about it. How came you to take up that line of work?"</p> + +<p>"I began by selling newspapers."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witherspoon sighed, and the merchant asked: "And did Andrew urge +it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. In fact I was a reporter before he knew anything about it."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon grunted. "I should have thought," said he, "that your +uncle would have looked after you with more care. Did you receive a +regular course of training?" Henry looked at him. "At school, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Yes, in an elementary way. Afterward I studied in the public +library."</p> + +<p>"A good school, but not cohesive," Witherspoon replied. "A thousand +scraps of knowledge don't make an education."</p> + +<p>"Father, you remember my uncle Harvey," said Mrs. Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"Hum, yes, I remember him."</p> + +<p>"Well, his education did not prevent his having a thousand scraps of +knowledge."</p> + +<p>"I should think not," Witherspoon replied. "No man's knowledge +interferes with his education."</p> + +<p>"My uncle Harvey knew nearly everything," Mrs. Witherspoon went on. +"He could make a clock; and he was one of the best school teachers in +the country. I shouldn't think that education consists in committing a +few rules to memory."</p> + +<p>"No, Caroline, not in the committing of a thousand rules to memory, +but without rule there is no complete education."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't think that there could be a complete education anyway," +she rejoined, in a tone which Henry knew was meant in defense of +himself.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said the merchant, and turning from the subject as +from something that could interest him but little, he again took up +the newspaper project. "We'll investigate that matter to-morrow, and +if you are still determined to go into it, the sooner the better. My +own opinion is that you will soon get tired of it, in view of the +better advantages that I urge upon you, for the worries of an +experimental concern will serve to strengthen my proposal."</p> + +<p>"I am resolved that in the end it shall cost you nothing," Henry +replied.</p> + +<p>"Hum, we'll see about that. But whatever you do, do it earnestly, for +a failure in one line does not argue success in another direction. In +business it is well to beware of men who have failed. They bring bad +luck. Without success there may be vanity, but there can be but little +pride, little self-respect."</p> + +<p>Henry moved uneasily in his chair. "But among those who have failed," +he replied, "we often find the highest types of manhood."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," rejoined the merchant. "That is merely a poetic idea. What +do you mean by the highest type of manhood? Men whose theories have +all been proved to be wrong? Great men have an aim and accomplish it. +America is a great country, and why? Because it is prosperous."</p> + +<p>"I don't mean that failure necessarily implies that a man's aim has +been high," said Henry, "neither do I think that financial success is +greatness. But our views are at variance and I fear that we shall +never be able to reconcile them. I may be wrong, and it is more than +likely that I am. At times I feel that there is nothing in the entire +scheme of life. If a man is too serious we call him a pessimist; if he +is too happy we know that he is an idiot."</p> + +<p>"Henry, you are too young a man to talk that way."</p> + +<p>"My son," said Mrs. Witherspoon, "the Lord has made us for a special +purpose, and we ought not to question His plans."</p> + +<p>"No, mother," Ellen spoke up, "but we should like to know something +about that especial part of the plan which relates to us."</p> + +<p>"My daughter, this is not a question for you to discuss. Your duty in +this life is so clearly marked out that there can be no mistake about +it. With my son it has unfortunately been different."</p> + +<p>The girl smiled. "A woman's duty is not so clearly marked out now as +it used to be, mother. As long as man was permitted to mark it out her +duty was clear enough—to him."</p> + +<p>"Hum!" Witherspoon grunted, "we are about to have a woman's +advancement session. Will you please preside?" he added, nodding at +Ellen. She laughed at him. He continued: "After a while Vassar will be +nothing but a woman's convention. Henry, we will go down to-morrow and +look after that newspaper."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI" />CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>ACKNOWLEDGED BY SOCIETY.</h3> + + +<p>The politician was surprised. He had not supposed that any one even +suspected that he wanted to get rid of the <i>Star</i>; indeed, he was not +aware that the public knew of his ownership of that paper. It was a +very valuable piece of property; but unfortunately his time was so +taken up with other matters that he could not give it the attention it +deserved. Its circulation was growing every day, and with proper +management its influence could be extended to every corner of the +country. Witherspoon replied that he was surprised to hear that the +paper was doing so well. He did not often see a copy of it. The +politician and the merchant understood each other, and the bargain was +soon brought to a close.</p> + +<p>And now the time for the reception was at hand. A florist's wagon +stood in front of the door, and the young man thought, "This is my +funeral." Every preparation gave him a shudder. Ellen laughed at him.</p> + +<p>"It's well enough for you to laugh," said he, "for you are safe in the +amphitheater while I am in the ring with the bull."</p> + +<p>"Why, you great big goose, is anybody going to hurt you?"</p> + +<p>"No; and that's the trouble. If somebody were to hurt me, I could +relieve myself of embarrassment by taking up revenge."</p> + +<p>At the very eleventh hour of preparation he was not only reconciled +to the affliction of a reception, but appeared rather to look with +favor upon the affair. And it was this peculiar reasoning that brought +him round: "I am here in place of another. I am not known. I am as a +writer who hides behind a pen-name."</p> + +<p>The evening came with a rumble of carriages. An invitation to a +reception means, "Come and be pleased. Frowns are to be left at home." +The difference between one society gathering and another is the +difference that exists between two white shoes—one may be larger than +the other. Witherspoon was lordly, and in his smile a stranger might +have seen a life of generosities. And with what a welcoming dignity he +took the hand that in its time had cut the throats of a thousand hogs. +Diamonds gleamed in the mellowed light, and there were smiles none the +less radiant for having been carefully trained. The evening was warm. +There was a wing-like movement of feathered fans. Scented time was +flying away.</p> + +<p>The guests were gone, and Henry sat in his room. He had thrown off the +garments which convention had prescribed, and now, with his feet on a +table, he sat smoking an old black pipe that he had lolled with on the +mountains of Costa Rica. The night which was now ending waved back for +review. Ellen, beautiful in an empire gown, golden yellow, brocaded +satin. "Why did you try to dodge this?" she had asked in a whisper. +"You are the most self-possessed man in the house. Can't you see how +proud we all are of you? I have never seen mother so happy."</p> + +<p>The perfume of praise was in the air. "Oh, I think your brother is +just charming," a young woman had said to Ellen, and Henry had caught +the words.</p> + +<p>"He is like my mother's people." Mrs. Witherspoon was talking to a +woman whose hair had been grayed and who appeared to enjoy the +distinction of being an invalid. The Coltons and the Brooks contingent +had smeared him with compliments. There was a literary group, and the +titles of a hundred books were mentioned; one writer was charming; +another was horrid. There was the group of household government, and +the servant-girl question, which has never been found in repose, was +tossed from one woman to another and caught as a bag of sweets. In the +library was a commercial and real-estate gathering, and the field of +speculation was broken up, harrowed and seeded down.</p> + +<p>The black-bearded muser put his pipe aside, and from this glowing +scene his thoughts flew away into a dark night when he stood in +Ulmata, knocking at the door of a deserted house. He got up and stood +at the window. Sparrows twittered. Threads of gray dawn streaked the +black warp of night.</p> + +<p>At morning there was another spread in the newspapers. The wonder of a +few days had spent its force, and the Witherspoon sensation was done.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII" />CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>A DEMOCRACY.</h3> + + +<p>The <i>Star</i> was printed in an old building where more than one +newspaper had failed. The interior of the place was so comfortless in +arrangement, so subject to unaccountable drafts of cold air in winter +and breaths of hot oppression in summer, that it must have been built +especially for a newspaper office. Henry found that the working force +consisted mainly of a few young reporters and a large force of +editorial writers. The weakness of nearly every newspaper is its +editorial page, and especially so when the paper is owned by a +politician. The new manager straightway began a reorganization. It was +an easy matter to form an efficient staff, for in every city some of +the best newspaper men are out of employment—the bright and uncertain +writers who have been shoved aside by trustworthy plodders. He did not +begin as one who knows it all, but he sought the co-operation of +practical men. The very man who knew that the paper could not do +without him was told that his services were no longer needed. In his +day he had spread many an acre of platitudes; he had hammered the +tariff mummy, and at every lick he had knocked out the black dust; he +had snorted loud in controversy, and was arrogant in the certainty +that his blowhard sentence was the frosty air of satire. He was the +representative of a class. To him all clearness of expression was +shallowness of thought, and brightness was the essence of frivolity. +He soon found another place, for some of the Chicago newspapers still +set a premium upon windy dullness.</p> + +<p>Among the writers whom Henry decided to retain was Laura Drury. She +wrote book reviews and scraps which were supposed to be of interest to +women. Her room opened into Henry's, and through a door which was +never shut he could see her at work. The brightness and the modesty of +her face attracted him. She could not have been more than twenty years +of age.</p> + +<p>"Have you been long in newspaper work?" he asked, when she had come in +to submit something to him.</p> + +<p>"Only a short time," she answered, and returned at once to her desk. +Henry looked at her as she proceeded with her work. Her presence +seemed to refine the entire office. He fancied that her hair made the +room brighter. His curiosity was awakened by one touch of her +presence. He sought to know more of her, and when she had come in +again to consult him, he said: "Wait a moment, please. How long have +you been connected with this paper?"</p> + +<p>"About three months, regularly."</p> + +<p>"Had you worked on any other paper in the city?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir; I have never worked on any other paper."</p> + +<p>"Have you lived here long?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I have been here only a short time. I am from Missouri."</p> + +<p>"You didn't come alone, did you?"</p> + +<p>She glanced at him quickly and answered: "I came alone, but I live +with my aunt."</p> + +<p>She returned to her work, and she must have discovered that he was +watching her, for the next day he saw that she had moved her desk.</p> + +<p>Henry had applied for membership in the Press Club, and one morning a +reporter told him that he had been elected.</p> + +<p>"Was there any opposition?" the editor asked.</p> + +<p>"Not after the boys learned that you had been a reporter. You can go +over at any time and sign the constitution."</p> + +<p>"I'll go now. Suppose you come with me."</p> + +<p>The Press Club of Chicago is a democracy. Money holds but little +influence within its precincts, for its ablest members are generally +"broke." There are no rules hung on its walls, no cool ceremonies to +be observed. Its atmosphere invites a man to be natural, and warns him +to conceal his vanities. Among that body of men no pretense is sacred. +Here men of Puritan ancestry find it well to curb a puritanical +instinct. A stranger may be shocked by a snort of profanity, but if he +listens he will hear a bright and poetic blending of words rippling +after it. A great preacher, whose sermons are read by the world, sat +one day in the club, uttering the slow and heavy sentences of an +oracle. He touched his finger tips together. He was discoursing on +some phase of life; and an old night police reporter listened for a +moment and said, "Rats!" The great man was startled. Accustomed to +deliver his theories to a silent congregation, he was astonished to +find that his wisdom could so irreverently be questioned. The reporter +meant no disrespect, but he could not restrain his contempt for so +presuming a piece of ignorance. He turned to the preacher and showed +him where his theories were wrong. With a pin he touched the bubble of +the great man's presumption, and it was done kindly, for when the +sage arose to go he said: "I must confess that I have learned +something. I fear that a preacher's library does not contain all that +is worth knowing." And this, more than any of his sermons, proved his +wisdom.</p> + +<p>In the Press Club the pulse of the town can be felt, and scandals that +money and social influence have suppressed are known there. The +characters of public men are correctly estimated; snobs are laughed +at; and the society woman who seeks to bribe the press with she +cajolery of a smile is a familiar joke. Of course this is not wholly a +harmonious body, for keen intelligence is never in smooth accord with +itself. To the "kicker" is given the right to "kick," and keen is the +enjoyment of this privilege. Every directory is the worst; every +officer neglects his duty.</p> + +<p>Literary societies know but little of this club, for literary +societies despise the affairs of the real worker—they are interested +in the bladdery essay written by the fashionable ass.</p> + +<p>Henry was shown into a large room, brightly carpeted and hung with +portraits. On a leather lounge a man lay asleep; at a round table a +man sat, solemnly playing solitaire; and in one corner of the +apartment sat several men, discussing an outrageous clause in the +constitution that Henry had just signed. The new member was introduced +to them. Among the number were John McGlenn, John Richmond and +a shrewd little Yankee named Whittlesy. Of McGlenn's character +a whole book might be written. An individual almost wholly distinct +from his fellow-men; a castigator of human weakness and yet a +hero-worshiper—not the hero of burning powder and fluttering flags, +but any human being whose brain had blazed and lighted the world. Art +was to him the soul of literature. Had he lived two thousand years +ago, as the founder of a peculiar school of philosophy, he might still +be alive. If frankness be a virtue, he was surely a reward unto +himself. He would calmly look into the eyes of a poet and say, "Yes, I +read your poem. Do you expect to keep on attempting to write poetry? +But you may think better of it after a while. I wrote poems when I was +of your age." He did not hate men because they were wealthy, but he +despised the methods that make them rich. His temperament invited a +few people to a close friendship with him, and gently warned many to +keep a respectful distance. Aggressive and cutting he was, and he +often said that death was the best friend of a man who is compelled to +write for a living. He wrote a subscription book for a mere pittance, +and one of the agents that sold it now lives in a mansion. He regarded +present success as nothing to compare with an immortal name in the +ages to come. He was born in the country, and his refined nature +revolted at his rude surroundings, and ever afterward he held the +country in contempt. In later years he had regarded himself simply as +a man of talent, and when this decision had been reached he thought +less of life. If his intellectual character lacked one touch, that +touch would have made him a genius. When applied to him the term +"gentleman" found its befitting place.</p> + +<p>Careless observers of men often passed Richmond without taking +particular notice of him. He was rather undersized, and was bald, but +his head was shapely. He was so sensitive that he often assumed a +brusqueness in order not to appear effeminate. His judgment of men +was as swift as the sweep of a hawk, and sometimes it was as sure. He +had taken so many chances, and had so closely noted that something +which we call luck, that he might have been touched a little with +superstition, but his soul was as broad as a prairie, and his mind was +as penetrating as a drill; and a fact must have selected a close +hiding-place to escape his search. Sitting in his room, with his plug +of black tobacco, he had explored the world. Stanley was amazed at his +knowledge of Africa, and Blaine marveled at his acquaintance with +political history.</p> + +<p>"We welcome you to our club," McGlenn remarked when Henry had sat +down, "but are you sure that this is the club you wanted to join!"</p> + +<p>Henry was surprised. "Of course I am. Why do you ask that question?"</p> + +<p>"Because you are a rich man, and this is the home of modesty."</p> + +<p>Henry reached over and shook hands with him. "I like that," said he, +"and let me assure you that you have in one sentence made me feel that +I really belong here, not because I am particularly modest, but +because your sentiments are my own. I am not a rich man, but even if I +were I should prefer this group to the hyphenated"—</p> + +<p>"Fools," McGlenn suggested.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Henry agreed, "the hyphenated fools that I am compelled to +meet. George Witherspoon is a rich man, but his money does not belong +to me. I didn't help him earn any of it; I borrowed money from him, +and, so soon as I can, I shall return it with interest."</p> + +<p>"John," said Richmond, "you were wrong—as you usually are—in asking +Mr. Witherspoon that question, but in view of the fact that you +enabled him to put himself so agreeably on record, we will excuse your +lack of courtesy."</p> + +<p>"I don't permit any man who goes fishing with any sort of ignorant +lout, and who spends a whole day in a boat with him, to tell me when I +am lacking in courtesy."</p> + +<p>Richmond laughed, put his hand to his mouth, threw back his head and +replied: "I go fishing, not for society, but for amusement; and, by +the way, I think it would do you good to go fishing, even with an +ignorant lout. You might learn something."</p> + +<p>"Ah," McGlenn rejoined, "you have disclosed the source of much of your +information. You learn from the ignorant that you may confound the +wise."</p> + +<p>Richmond put his hand to his mouth. "At some playful time," said he, +"I might seek to confound the wise, but I should never so far forget +myself as to make an experiment on you."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Witherspoon," remarked McGlenn, "we will turn from this rude +barbarian and give our attention to Mr. Whittlesy, who knows all about +dogs."</p> + +<p>"If he knows all about dogs," Henry replied, "he must be well +acquainted with some of the most prominent traits of man."</p> + +<p>"I am not talking much to-day," said Whittlesy, ducking his head. "I +went fooling round the Board of Trade yesterday; and they got me, and +they got me good."</p> + +<p>"How much did they catch you for, Whit?" McGlenn asked.</p> + +<p>"I won't say, but they got me, and got me good, but never mind. Ill go +after 'em."</p> + +<p>The man who had been asleep on the leather lounge got up, stretched +himself, looked about for a moment, and then, coming over to the +group, said: "What's all this bloody rot?" Seeing a stranger, he +added, by way of apology: "I thought this was the regular roasting +lay-out."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Witherspoon," said Richmond, "let me introduce Mr. Mortimer, an +old member of the club;" and when the introduction had been +acknowledged, Richmond added: "Mortimer has just thought of something +mean to say and has come over to say it. He dozes himself full of +venom and then has to get rid of it."</p> + +<p>"Our friend Richmond is about as truthful as he is complimentary," +Mortimer replied.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Richmond, "but if I were no more complimentary than you +are truthful, I should have a slam for everybody."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho, ho, no," McGlenn cried, and Richmond shouted: "Oh, I have +been robbed."</p> + +<p>Henry looked about for the cause of this commotion and saw a smiling +man, portly and impressive, coming toward them with a dignified mince +in his walk. And Mr. Flummers was introduced with half-humorous +ceremony. He had rather a pleasant expression of countenance, and men +who were well acquainted with him said that he had, though not so long +of arm, an extensive reach for whisky. He was of impressive size, with +a sort of Napoleonic head; and when hot on the trail of a drink, his +voice held a most unctuous solicitude. He was exceedingly annoying to +some people and was a source of constant delight to others. At one +time he had formed the habit of being robbed, and later on he was +drugged; but no one could conjecture what he would next add to his +repertory. His troubles were amusing, his difficulties were humorous, +his failures were laughable, and his sorrows were the cause for jest. +He had a growing paunch, and when he stood he leaned back slightly as +though his rotund front found ease in exhibition. As a law student he +had aimed a severe blow at justice, and failing as an attorney, he had +served his country a good turn. As a reporter he wrote with a torch, +and wrote well. All his utterances were declamatory; and he had a set +of scallopy gestures that were far beyond the successful mimicry of +his fellows. The less he thought the more wisely he talked. Meditation +hampered him, and like a rabbit, he was generally at his best when he +first "jumped up."</p> + +<p>He shook hands with Henry, looked at him a moment and asked: "Are you +going to run a newspaper with all those old geysers you've got over +there?"</p> + +<p>The new member winced.</p> + +<p>"Don't pay any attention to Flummers," John Richmond said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," Flummers insisted. "You see, I know all those fellows. Some +of them were worn out ten years ago—but say, are you paying anything +over there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, paying as much as any paper in the town."</p> + +<p>"That's the stuff; but say, you can afford it. Who rang the bell? Did +anybody ring? Boy," (speaking to a waiter), "we ought to have +something to drink here."</p> + +<p>"Do <i>you</i> want to pay for it?" Richmond asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho, ho, no, I'm busted. I've set 'em up two or three times +to-day."</p> + +<p>"Why, you stuffed buffalo robe, you"—</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, it was the other day, then. I'm all the time buying the +drinks. If it weren't for me you geysers would dry up. Say, John, +touch the bell."</p> + +<p>"Wait," said Henry. "Have something with me."</p> + +<p>"Ah, now you command the respect of the commonwealth!" Flummers cried. +"By one heroic act you prove that your life is not a failure. These +fellows round here make me tired. Boy, bring me a little whisky. What +are you fellows going to take? What! you want a cigar?" he added, +speaking to Henry.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I had a great man on my staff yesterday—big railroad man. Do you +know that some of those fellows like to have a man show them how to +spend their money? I see I'm posted for dues. This municipality must +think I'm made of money."</p> + +<p>When he caught sight of the boy coming with the tray, a peculiar +light, such as painters give the face of Hope, illumined his +countenance, and clasping his hands, he unctuously greeted himself.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Flummers," said McGlenn, "we all love you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no."</p> + +<p>"Yes; it is disreputable, but we love you. It was a long time before I +discovered your beauties. I used to think that the men who loved you +were the enemies of a higher grade of life, and perhaps they were, but +I love you. You are a great man, Mr. Flummers. Nature designed you to +be the president of a life insurance company."</p> + +<p>"Well, say, I know that."</p> + +<p>"Yes," continued McGlenn. "A life insurance company ought to employ +you as a great joss, and charge people for the privilege of a mere +glimpse of you."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't think," said Richmond, "that a man who had committed +murder in Nebraska would be so extreme as to pose as the president of +a life insurance company."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hammers, did you commit a murder in Nebraska?" McGlenn asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no."</p> + +<p>"But didn't you confess that you killed a man there?" Richmond urged.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, that was a mistake."</p> + +<p>"What? The confession?"</p> + +<p>"No, the killing. You see, I was out of work, and I struck a doctor +for a job in his drug-store; and once, when the doctor was away, an +old fellow sent over to have a prescription filled, and I filled it. +And when the doctor returned he saw the funeral procession going past +the store. He asked me what it meant, and I told him."</p> + +<p>"Then what did he say?"</p> + +<p>"He asked me if I got pay for the prescription. Oh, but he was a +thrifty man!" Flummers clasped his hands, threw himself back and +laughed with a jolting "he, he, he." "Well, I've got to go. Did +anybody ring? Say, John"—to Richmond—"why don't you buy something?"</p> + +<p>"What? Oh, you gulp, you succession of swallows, you human sink-hole! +Flummers, I have bought you whisky enough to overflow the +Mississippi."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho, ho, but not to-day, John. Past whisky is a scandal; in +present whisky there lies a virtue. Never tell a man what you have +done, John, lest he may think you boastful, but show him what you will +do now, so that he may have the proof of your ability. Is it possible +that I've got to shake you fellows? My time is too valuable to waste +even with a mere contemplation of your riotous living."</p> + +<p>He walked away with his mincing step. "There's a character," said +Henry, looking after him. "He is positively restful."</p> + +<p>"Until he wants a drink," Mortimer replied, "and then he is restless. +Well, I must follow his example of withdrawal, if not his precept of +appetite. I am pleased to have met you, Mr. Witherspoon, and I hope to +see you often."</p> + +<p>"I think you shall, as I intend to make this my resting-place."</p> + +<p>"There is another character," said McGlenn, referring to Mortimer. "He +is a very learned man, so much so that he has no need of imagination. +He is a <i>very</i> learned man."</p> + +<p>"And he is charmed with the prospect of saying a mean thing," Richmond +replied. "I tell him so," he added, "though that is needless, for he +knows it himself. His mind has traveled over a large scope of +intellectual territory, and he commands my respect while I object to +his methods."</p> + +<p>The conversation took a serious turn, and Richmond flooded it with his +learning. His voice was low and his manner modest—a great man who in +the game of human affairs played below the limit of his abilities. +McGlenn roused himself. When emphatic, he had a way of turning out his +thumb and slowly hammering his knee with his fist. In his sky there +was a cloud of pessimism, but the brightness of his speech threw a +rainbow across it. He was a poet in the garb of a Diogenes. Many of +his theories were wrong, but all were striking. Sometimes his +sentences flashed like a scythe swinging in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>Henry talked as he had never found occasion to talk before. These men +inspired him, and in acknowledgment of this he said: "We may for years +carry in our minds a sort of mist that we cannot shape into an idea. +Suddenly we meet a man, and he speaks the word of life unto that mist, +and instantly it becomes a thought."</p> + +<p>Other members joined the group, and the conversation broke and flew +into sharp fragments. McGlenn and Richmond began to wrangle.</p> + +<p>"Your children may not read my books," said McGlenn, replying to some +assertion that Richmond had made, "but your great-grandchildren will."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's possible," Richmond rejoined. "I can defend my immediate +offspring, while my descendants may be left without protection. If you +would tear the didacticism out of your books and inject a little more +of the juice of human interest—hold on!" Richmond threw up his arm, +as though warding off a blow. "When that double line comes between his +eyes I always feel that he is going to hit me."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't hit you. I have some pity left."</p> + +<p>"Or fear—which is it?"</p> + +<p>"Not fear; pity."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you reserve some of it for your readers?"</p> + +<p>McGlenn frowned. "I don't expect you to like my books."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you have realized the fact that the characters are wooden?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I have realized that they are beyond your feeble grasp. I +don't want you to like my books." He hammered his knee. "The book that +wins your regard is an exceedingly bad production. When you search +for facts you may sometimes go to high sources, but when you read +fiction you go to the dogs. A consistent character in fiction is +beyond you."</p> + +<p>"There are no consistent characters in life," said Richmond, "and a +consistent character in fiction is merely a strained form of art. In +life the most arrant coward will sometimes fight; the bravest man at +times lacks nerve; the generous man may sometimes show the spirit of +the niggard. But your character in fiction is different. He must be +always brave, or always generous, or always niggardly. He must be +consistent, and consistency is not life."</p> + +<p>"But inconsistency is life, and you are, therefore, not dead," McGlenn +replied. "If inconsistency were a jewel," he added, "you would be a +cluster of brilliants. As it is, you are an intellectual fault-finder +and a physical hypochondriac."</p> + +<p>"And you are an intellectual cartoon and a physical mistake."</p> + +<p>"I won't talk to you. Even the semblance of a gentleman commands my +respect, but I can't respect you. I like truth, but"—</p> + +<p>"Is that the reason you seek me?"</p> + +<p>"No, it is the reason I avoid you. Brutal prejudice never held a +truth."</p> + +<p>"Not when it shook hands with you," Richmond replied.</p> + +<p>McGlenn got up, walked over to the piano, came back, looked at his +watch, and addressing Richmond, asked:</p> + +<p>"Are you going home, John?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, John. Suppose we walk."</p> + +<p>"I'll go you; come on."</p> + +<p>They bade Henry good evening and together walked off affectionately.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of our new friend?" Richmond asked as they strolled +along.</p> + +<p>"John, he has suffered. He is a great man."</p> + +<p>"I don't know how he may turn out," Richmond said, "but I rather like +him. Of course he hasn't fitted himself to his position—that is, he +doesn't as yet feel the force of old Witherspoon's money. His +experience has gone far toward making a man of him, but his changed +condition may after a while throw his past struggles into contempt and +thereby corrode his manliness."</p> + +<p>"I don't think that he scraped up his principles from the Witherspoon +side of the house," McGlenn declared. "If he had, we should at once +have discovered in him the unmistakable trace of the hog. Oh, I don't +think he will stay in the club very long. His tendency will be to +drift away. All rich men are the enemies of democracy. If they pretend +that they are not, they are hypocrites; if they believe they are not, +it is because they haven't come to a correct understanding of +themselves. The meanest difference that can exist between men is the +difference that money makes. There is some compassion in an +intellectual difference, and even in a difference of birth there is +some little atonement to be expected, but a moneyed difference is +stiff with unyielding brutality."</p> + +<p>In this opinion they struck a sort of agreement, but they soon fell +apart, and they wrangled until they reached a place where their +pathway split. They halted for a moment; they had been fierce in +argument. Now they were calm.</p> + +<p>"Can't you come over to-night, John?" McGlenn asked.</p> + +<p>"No, I can't possibly come to-night, John. I've got a piece of work on +hand and must get it off. I've neglected it too long already."</p> + +<p>But he did go over that night, and he wrangled with McGlenn until +twelve o'clock.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII" />CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>BUTTING AGAINST A WALL.</h3> + + +<p>When we have become familiar with an environment we sometimes wonder +why at any time it should have appeared strange to us; and it was thus +with Henry as the months moved along. The mansion in Prairie Avenue +was now home-like to him, and the contrasts which its luxurious +belongings were wont to summon were now less sharp and were dismissed +with a growing easiness. Feeling the force which position urges, he +worked without worry, and conscious of a certain ability, he did not +question the success of his plans. But how much of the future did he +intend these plans to cover? He turned from this troublesome +uncertainty and found satisfaction in that state of mind which permits +one day to forecast the day which is to follow, and on a futurity +stretching further than this he resolutely turned his back. In his +work and in his rest at the Press Club, whither he went every +afternoon, he found his keenest pleasure. He was also fond of the +theater, not to sit with a box party, but to loiter with Richmond—to +enjoy the natural, to growl at the tame, and to leave the place +whenever a tiresome dialogue came on. Ellen sometimes drew him into +society, and on Sundays he usually went with Mrs. Witherspoon to a +Congregational church where a preacher who had taught his countenance +the artifice of a severe solemnity denounced the money-chasing spirit +of the age at about double the price that he had received in the East.</p> + +<p>The Witherspoons had much company and they entertained generously, +though not with a showy lavishness, for the old man had a quick eye +for the appearance of waste. It was noticeable, too, that since Henry +came young women who were counted as Ellen's friends were more +frequent with their visits. Witherspoon rarely laughed at anything, +but he laughed at this. His wife, however, discovered in it no cause +for mirth. A mother may plan the marriage of her daughter, for that is +romantic, but she looks with an anxious eye upon the marriage of her +son, for that is serious.</p> + +<p>One evening, when Witherspoon and Henry had gone into the library to +smoke, the merchant remarked: "I want, to talk to you about the course +of your paper."</p> + +<p>"All right, sir."</p> + +<p>The merchant stood on the hearth-rug. He lighted his cigar, turned it +round and round, and then said:</p> + +<p>"Brooks called my attention this afternoon to an article on working +girls. Does it meet with your approval?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes. It was a special assignment, and I gave it out."</p> + +<p>"Hum!" Witherspoon grunted. He sat down in his leather-covered chair, +crossed his legs, struck a match on the sole of his slipper, relighted +his cigar, which he had suffered to go out, and for a time smoked in +silence.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything wrong about it?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"I might ask you if there is anything right about it," Witherspoon +replied. "'The poor ye have with you always,' was uttered by the Son +of God. It was not only a prophecy, but a truth for all ages. There +are grades in life, and who made them? Man. Ah, but who made man? God. +Then who is responsible for the grades? Nature sets the example of +inequality. One tree is higher than another." His cigar had gone out. +He lighted it again and continued: "Writers who seek to benefit the +poor of ten injure them—teach them a dissatisfaction which in its +tarn brings a sort of reprisal on the part of capital."</p> + +<p>"I don't agree with you," said Henry.</p> + +<p>"Of course not."</p> + +<p>"I have cause to know that you are wrong, sir."</p> + +<p>"You think you have," the merchant replied.</p> + +<p>"It is true," Henry admitted, "that we shall always have the poor with +us."</p> + +<p>"I thought so," said Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"But it is not true that an attempt to aid them is harmful. Their +condition has steadily improved since history "—</p> + +<p>"You are a sentimentalist."</p> + +<p>"I am more than that," said Henry. "I am a man."</p> + +<p>"Hum! And are you more than that?"</p> + +<p>"How could I be more?"</p> + +<p>"Easily enough. You could be an anarchist."</p> + +<p>"And is that a step higher?"</p> + +<p>"Wolves think so."</p> + +<p>"But I don't"</p> + +<p>"I hope not."</p> + +<p>They sat in silence. The young man was angry, but he controlled +himself.</p> + +<p>"It is easy to scatter dangerous words in this town," said the +merchant. "And, sir,"—he broke off, rousing himself,—"look at the +inconsistency, the ridiculousness of your position. I employ more than +a thousand people; my son says that I oppress them. I"—</p> + +<p>"Hold on; I didn't say that. I don't know of any injustice that you +inflict upon your employés; but I do know of such wrongs committed by +other men. But you have shown me that the condition of those creatures +is hopeless."</p> + +<p>"What creatures?"</p> + +<p>"Women who work for a living."</p> + +<p>"And do you know the cause of their hopelessness?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; poverty and oppression."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but what is the cause of their poverty?"</p> + +<p>"The greed of man."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; the appetite of man—whisky. Nine out of ten of those +so-called wretched creatures can trace their wretchedness to drink."</p> + +<p>"But it is not their fault."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>Henry was stunned. He saw what a wall he was butting against. "And is +this to go on forever?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, forever. 'The poor ye have with you always.'"</p> + +<p>"But present conditions may be overturned."</p> + +<p>"Possibly, but other conditions just as bad, or even worse, will build +on the ruins. That is the history you spoke of just now."</p> + +<p>"But slavery was swept away—and, let me affirm," he suddenly broke +off, "that the condition of the poorer people in this town is worse +than the slavery that existed in the South. From that slavery the +government pointed toward freedom, and mill-owners in the North +applauded—men, too, mind you, who were the hardest of masters. I can +bring up now the picture of a green lane. I can see an old negro woman +sweeping the door-yard of her cabin, and she sings a song. Her husband +is at work in the field, and her happy children are fishing in the +bayou. That is the freedom which the government pointed out—the +freedom which a God-inspired Lincoln proclaimed. But do you hear any +glad songs among the slaves in the North? Let me tell you, sir, that +we are confronted with a problem that is more serious than that which +was solved by Lincoln."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon looked at him as though he could think of no reply. At one +moment he seemed to be filling up with the gathering impulses of +anger; at another he appeared to be humiliated.</p> + +<p>"Are you my son?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Presumably. An impostor would yield to your demands; he would win +your confidence that he might steal your money."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the merchant, and he sat in silence.</p> + +<p>Henry was the first to speak. "If you were poor, and with the same +intelligence you have now, what would you advise the poor man to do?"</p> + +<p>"I should advise him to do as I did when I was poor and as I do +now—work. Now, let me tell you something: Last year your mother and I +gave away a great deal of money—we do so every year. Does that look +as if I am grinding the poor? You have hurt me."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry. But if I have hurt you with a truth, it should make you +think."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon looked at him, and this time it was with resentment. +"What! you talk about making me think? Young man, you don't know what +it is to think. You are confounded with the difference between +sentimentalism and thought. You go ahead and print your newspaper and +don't worry about the workingwoman. Her class will be larger and worse +off, probably, a hundred years after you are dead."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but before that time her class may rise up and sweep everything +before it. A democracy can't long permit a few men to hold all the +wealth. But there's no good to come from a discussion with you."</p> + +<p>"You are right," said Witherspoon, "but hold on a moment. Don't go +away believing that I have no sympathy for the poor. I have, but I +haven't time to worry with it. There is no reason why any man should +be poor in this country."</p> + +<p>Henry thought of a hundred things to say, but said nothing. He knew +that it was useless; he knew that this man's strength had blinded him +to the weakness of other men, and he felt that American aristocracy +was the most grinding of all aristocracies, for the reason that a +man's failure to reach its grade was attributable to himself alone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV" />CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>A DIFFERENT HANDWRITING.</h3> + + +<p>Henry bade Witherspoon good night and went to his room. A fire was +burning in the grate. At the window there was a rattle of sleet. He +lighted his old briar-root pipe and sat down. He had, as usual, ceased +to argue with himself; he simply mused. He acknowledged his weakness, +and sought a counteracting strength, but found none. But why should he +fight against good fortune? It was not his fault that certain +conditions existed. Why not starve the past and feed the present? But +he had begun to argue, and he shook himself as though he would be +freed from something that had taken hold of him, and he got up and +stood at the window. How raw the night! And as he stood there, he +fancied that the darkness and the sleet of his boyhood were trying to +force their way into the warmth and the light of his new inheritance. +He turned suddenly about, and bowing with mock politeness, said to +himself: "You are a fool." He lighted his pipe afresh, and sat down to +work. Some one tapped at the door. Was it Witherspoon come to deliver +another argument, and to decide again in his own favor? No, it was +Ellen. She had been at the theater.</p> + +<p>"You bring roses out of the storm," said Henry, in allusion to the +color of her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"But I don't bring flattery. Gracious! I am chilled through." She took +off her gloves and held her hands over the grate. "Everybody's gone +to bed, and I didn't know but you might be here, scribbling. Goodness, +what's that you've been smoking?"</p> + +<p>"A pipe."</p> + +<p>She turned from the fire and shrugged her shoulders. "Couldn't you get +a cigar? Why do you smoke that awful thing?"</p> + +<p>"It is an altar of the past, and on it I burn the memories of its +day," he answered, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Well, I think I would get a new altar and burn incense for the +present! Oh, but I've had the stupidest evening."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't the play good?"</p> + +<p>"No, it was talk, talk, with a stress laid on nothing. And then my +escort wasn't particularly entertaining."</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, a Mr. Somebody. What have you been doing all the evening?"</p> + +<p>"Something that I found to be worse than useless. Father and I have +been locking horns over the—not exactly the labor question, but over +the wretchedness of working-women."</p> + +<p>"What do you know about the wretchedness of working-women?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"What do I know about it? What can I help knowing about it? How can I +shut my eyes against it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see why they are so very wretched. They get pay, I'm sure. +Somebody has to work; somebody has to be poor. What are you writing?"</p> + +<p>"The necessary rot of an editorial page." he answered.</p> + +<p>"Why, how your handwriting has changed," she said, leaning over the +table.</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"Why, this is so different from the letters you wrote before you came +home."</p> + +<p>He did not reply immediately; he was thinking. "Pens in that country +cut queer capers," he said. "Where are those letters, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"Mother has put them away somewhere."</p> + +<p>"I should like to see them again."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, on account of the memories they hold. Get them for me, and I will +give you a description of my surroundings at the time I wrote them."</p> + +<p>"Why, what a funny fellow you are! Can't you give me a description +anyway?"</p> + +<p>"No, not a good one."</p> + +<p>"But I don't want to wake mother, and I don't know that I can find the +letters."</p> + +<p>"Go and see."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are so headstrong."</p> + +<p>She went out, and he walked up and down the room, and then stood again +at the window. Ellen returned.</p> + +<p>"Here they are."</p> + +<p>"Did you wake mother?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I committed burglary. I found the key and unlocked her trunk, +and all to please you."</p> + +<p>"Good, and for the first time burglary shall be repaid with +gratitude."</p> + +<p>He took the letters and looked at the sprawling characters drawn by +the hand of his friend. "When I copied this confession," said he, "I +was heavy of heart. I was sitting in a small room, looking far down +into a valley where nature seemed to keep her darkness stored, and +from, another window, in the east, I could see a mountain where she +made her light."</p> + +<p>"Go on," she said, leaning with her elbows on the table.</p> + +<p>He began to walk across the room, from the door to the grate, and to +talk as one delivering a set oration. "And I had just finished my work +when a most annoying monkey, owned by the landlord, jumped through the +window. I was so startled that I threw the folded papers at him"—</p> + +<p>"What have you done!" she cried.</p> + +<p>He had thrown the letters into the fire, he sprang forward, and +snatching them, threw them on the hearth and stamped out the blaze.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I do wish you hadn't done that," she said, hoarse with alarm. +"Mother reads these letters every day, and—oh, I <i>do</i> wish you hadn't +done it! They are all scorched—ruined, and I wouldn't have her know +that I took them out of her trunk for anything. What shall we do about +it? Oh, I know you didn't mean to do it." He had looked appealingly at +her. "I wish I hadn't got them."</p> + +<p>"It is only the copy of the confession that is badly burned. The +original is here on the table," he said.</p> + +<p>"I know, but what good will that do? The letters are so scorched that +it won't do to return them."</p> + +<p>"But I can copy them," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you genius!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he said, bowing. Then he added: "Let me see—this paper +won't do. Where can we get some fool's-cap?"</p> + +<p>"There must be some in the library," she answered. "I'll slip down and +see."</p> + +<p>She hastened down-stairs and soon returned with the paper. "I feel +like a burglar," she said.</p> + +<p>"And I <i>am</i> a forger," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Won't take you long, will it?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>The work was soon completed. The scorched letters were thrown into the +fire. "She will never know the difference," said Ellen. "It is a sin +to deceive her, but then, following the burglary, deception is a +kindness; and there can't be so very much wickedness in a sin that +keeps one from being unhappy."</p> + +<p>"Or keeps one from being discovered," he suggested. She laughed, not +mirthfully, but with an attempt at self-consolation. "This is our +first secret," she said, as she opened the door.</p> + +<p>"And I think you will keep it," he replied, smiling at her.</p> + +<p>She looked at him for a moment and rejoined: "Indeed, fellow-criminal! +And if you didn't smoke that horrid pipe, what a lovable convict you +would make."</p> + +<p>When she was gone he stood again at the window. The night was +breathing hard. He spoke to himself with mock concern: "Two hours ago +you were simply a fool, but now you are a scoundrel."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV" />CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>TOLD HIM HER STORY.</h3> + + +<p>When he awoke the next morning his blood seemed to be clogged +somewhere far from the seat of thought, and then it came with a leap +that brought back the night before. "But I won't argue with you," he +said, turning over. "Argue," he repeated. "Why, it's past argument +now. I will simply do the best I can and let the worst take care of +itself. But I do despise a vacillator, and I am one. The old man maybe +right. Nature admires strength and never pities the weak. And what am +I to do if I'm not to carry out my part of this programme? The trial +is over," he said as he got up. "I am Henry Witherspoon."</p> + +<p>He was busy in his room at the office when Brooks entered.</p> + +<p>"Well, hard at it, I see."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Sit down; I'll be through with this in a moment."</p> + +<p>He sat himself back from the desk, and Brooks asked, "Can't you go out +to lunch with me?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't time yet."</p> + +<p>"Hardly, that's so," Brooks admitted, looking at his watch. "I +happened to have business in this neighborhood and thought I'd drop +in. Say," he added in a lower tone, and nodding his head toward the +door of the adjoining room, "who is she?"</p> + +<p>"The literary reviewer."</p> + +<p>"She's a stunner. What's her name?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Drury."</p> + +<p>"You might introduce me."</p> + +<p>"She's busy."</p> + +<p>"Probably she'd go to lunch with us."</p> + +<p>"She refuses to go out with any one."</p> + +<p>"Hasn't been here long, eh?" That was the floorwalker's idea. "Well, I +must get back, if you can't go with me. So long."</p> + +<p>Henry took a book into Miss Drury's room. "Here's something that was +sent to me personally," said he, "but treat it as you think it +deserves."</p> + +<p>She looked up with a suggestion of a smile. "Are you willing to trust +the reputation of your friends to me?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I am at least willing to let you take charge of their vanity."</p> + +<p>"Oh, am I so good a keeper of vanity?"</p> + +<p>"No, you are so gentle an exterminator of it."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said, laughing. Her hair seemed ready to break from +its fastenings, and she gave it those deft touches of security which +are mysterious to man, but which a little girl practices on a doll.</p> + +<p>"You have wonderful hair," he said.</p> + +<p>And she answered: "I'm going to cut it off."</p> + +<p>This is woman's almost invariable reply to such a compliment. Henry +knew that she would say it, and she knew that she would not cut it +off, and they both laughed.</p> + +<p>"How did you happen to get into newspaper work?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Her face became serious. "I had to do something," she answered, "and +I couldn't do anything else. My mother was an invalid for ten years, +and I nursed her, read to her day and night. Sometimes in the winter +she couldn't sleep, and I would get up and amuse her by writing +reviews of the books I had read. It was only play, but after she was +dead I thought that I might make it earnest."</p> + +<p>"And your father died when you were very young, I suppose."</p> + +<p>She looked away, and with both hands she began to touch her hair +again. "Yes," she said.</p> + +<p>"Tell me about him."</p> + +<p>"Why about him?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Because you have told me about your mother, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"And are you so much interested in me?" she asked, looking earnestly +at him.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I ought not to tell you, but I will. We lived in the country. My +father was"—She looked about her and then at him. "My father was a +drunkard, but my mother loved him devotedly. One day he went to the +village, several miles away, and at evening he didn't come home, and +my mother knew the cause. It was a cold, snowy night. Mother stood at +the gate, holding a lantern. She wouldn't let me stand there with her, +it was so cold, but I was on my knees in a chair at the window, and I +could see her. She stood there so long, and it seemed so cruel that I +should be in a warm room while she was out in the cold, that I slipped +out and closed the door softly after me. I stood a short distance +behind her, and I had not been standing there long when a horse, +covered with snow, came stumbling out of the darkness. Mother called +me, and I ran to her. We went down the road, holding the lantern first +one side, then the other, that we might see into the corners of the +fences. We found him lying dead in the road, covered with snow. Mother +was never well after that night—but really I am neglecting my work."</p> + +<p>He returned to his desk. The proof-sheets of a leading article were +brought to him, but he sat gazing at naught that he could see.</p> + +<p>"Are you done with those proofs?" some one asked.</p> + +<p>"Take them away," he said, without looking up. He sat for a long time, +musing, and then he shook himself, a habit which he had lately formed +in trying to free himself from meditations that sought to possess him.</p> + +<p>He went out to luncheon, and just as he was going into a restaurant +some one spoke to him. It was old man Colton.</p> + +<p>"My dear Mr. Witherspoon," said the old man, "come and have a bite to +eat with me. Ah, come on, now; no excuse. Let's go this way. I know of +a place that will just suit you. This way. I'm no hand for clubs—they +bore me; they are newfangled."</p> + +<p>The old man conducted him into a basement restaurant not noticeable +for cleanliness, but strong with a smell of mutton.</p> + +<p>"Now, suppose we try a little broth," said the old man, when they had +sat down. "Two bowls of mutton broth," he added, speaking to the +waiter. "Ah," he went on, "you may talk about your dishes, but at +noontime there is nothing that can touch broth. And besides," he +added, in a whisper, "there's no robbery in broth. These restaurant +fellows are skinners of the worst order. I'll tell you, my dear Mr. +Witherspoon, everything teaches us to practice economy. We must do +it; it's the saving clause of life. Now, what could be better than +this? Go back to work, and your head's clear. My dear Mr. Witherspoon, +if I had been a spendthrift, I should not only be a pauper—I should +have been dead long ago."</p> + +<p>He continued to talk on the virtues of economy. "Won't you have some +more broth?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you."</p> + +<p>"Won't you have something else?" he asked, in a tone that implied +extreme fear.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not hungry to-day."</p> + +<p>This announcement appeared greatly to relieve the old man. "Oh, you'll +succeed in life, my dear young man; but really you ought to come into +the store with us. It would do your father so much good; he would feel +that he has a sure hold on the future, you understand. You don't know +what a comfort Brooks is to me. Why, if my daughter had married a man +in any other line, I—well, it would have been a great disappointment. +Are you going back to work now?"</p> + +<p>"No; to the Press Club."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you come to see us oftener?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm there often enough, I should think—two or three times a +week."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, but we are all so anxious that you should become +interested in our work. Don't discourage yourself with the belief that +a man brought up in the South is not a good business man. I am from +the South, my dear Mr. Witherspoon."</p> + +<p>They had reached the sidewalk, and the roar from the street impelled +the old man to force his squeaky voice into a split shout.</p> + +<p>"Southern man"—He was bumped off by the passing throng, but he got +back again and shouted: "Southern man has just as good commercial +ability as anybody. Well, I must leave you here."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI" />CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>AN AROUSER OF THE SLEEPY.</h3> + + +<p>In the Press Club Henry found Mr. Flummers haranguing a party of men +who sat about the round table. He stood that he might have room in +which to scallop his gestures, and he had reached a climax just as +Henry joined the circle. He waited until all interruptions had ceased +and then continued: "Milwaukee was asleep, and I was sent up there to +arouse it. But I shook it too hard; I hadn't correctly measured my own +strength. The old-timers said, 'Let us doze,' but I commanded, 'Wake +up here now, and get a move on you,' and they had to wake up. But they +formulated a conspiracy against me, and I was removed."</p> + +<p>"How were you removed, Mr. Flummers?" McGlenn asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a petition, signed by a thousand sleepy citizens, was sent down +here to my managing editor, and I was requested to come away. Thus was +my Milwaukee career ended, but it ended in a blaze that dazzled the +eyes of the old-timers." He cut a scallop. "But papa was not long +idle. The solid South wanted him. They knew that papa was the man to +quiet a disturbance or compel a drowsy municipality to get up and rub +its eyes. Well, I went to Memphis. What was the cause of the great +excitement that followed?" He tapped his forehead. "Papa's nut. But +again had he underestimated himself; again was he too strong for the +occasion. He tossed up the community in his little blanket, and while +it was still in the air, papa skipped, and the railroad train didn't +go any too fast for him."</p> + +<p>"And was that the time you went over into Arkansas and murdered a +man?" Richmond asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; you are mixing ancient history with recent events. But say, +John, you haven't bought anything to-day."</p> + +<p>"Why, you paunch-bulging liar, I bought you a drink not more than ten +minutes ago."</p> + +<p>"But you owed me that one."</p> + +<p>"Get out, you nerveless beef! Under the old law for debt I could put +you in prison for life."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no."</p> + +<p>"Do you really need a drink, Mr. Flummers?" McGlenn asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you don't think that there is any mistake about it?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, as one who has been compelled to love you, I will buy you +a drink."</p> + +<p>"Good stuff. Say, Whit, touch the bell over there, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Touch it yourself, you lout!"</p> + +<p>With a profane avowal that he had never struck so lazy a party, +Flummers rang the bell, and when the boy appeared, he called with +hearty hospitality: "See what the gentlemen will have."</p> + +<p>"Would you like something more?" Henry asked of Flummers, when the +drinks had been served.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've just had one. But wait a minute. Say, boy, bring me a +cigar."</p> + +<p>When the cigar was brought, Flummers said, "That's the stuff!" and a +moment later he broke out with, "Say, Witherspoon, why don't you kill +the geyser that does the county building for your paper?"</p> + +<p>"Why so?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he flashes his star and calls himself a journalist. What time is +it? I must hustle; can't stay here and throw away time on you fellows. +Say, John"—</p> + +<p>Richmond shut him off with: "Don't call me John. A man—I'll say man +out of courtesy to your outward form—a man that hasn't sense enough +to lift a bass into a boat is not to be permitted such a familiarity. +Out in a boat with him last summer and caught a big bass," Richmond +explained to the company, "and brought it up to the side of the boat +and told Flummers to lift it in, not thinking at the time that he +hadn't sense enough, and he grabbed hold of the line and let the fish +get away. It made me sick, and I had a strong fight with myself to +keep from drowning him."</p> + +<p>Flummers tapped his forehead. "Papa's nut says, 'Keep your hand out of +a fish's mouth.' Oh, I don't want to go fishing with you again. No fun +for me to pull a boat and see a man thrash the water. Say, did I take +anything on you just now?" he suddenly broke off, addressing Henry.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you can have something else."</p> + +<p>"Well, not now. I'll hold it in reserve. In this life it is well to +have reserve forces stationed here and there. Who's got a car-ticket? +I've got to go over on the West Side. What, are you all broke? What +sort of a poverty-stricken gang have I struck? Well, I've given you +as much of my valuable time as I can spare."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you are getting used to this town," said Mortimer, when +Flummers was gone.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am gradually making myself feel at home," Henry answered.</p> + +<p>"You find the weather disagreeable, of course. We do, I know."</p> + +<p>"I think that Chicago is great in spite of its climate," said Henry.</p> + +<p>"If great at all, it is great in spite of a great many absences," +McGlenn replied; "and in these absences it is mean and contemptible. +To money it gives worship; to the song and dance man it pays admiring +attention, but to the writer it gives neglect—the campaign of +silence."</p> + +<p>Richmond put his hand to his month and threw his head back. "The +trouble with you, John"—</p> + +<p>"There's no trouble with me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is, and it is the trouble that comes to all men who form +an estimate without having first taken the trouble to think."</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," said McGlenn, "I wish to call your attention to that +remark. John Richmond advising people to think before they form their +estimates. John, you are the last man to think before you form an +estimate. Within a minute after you meet a man you are prepared to +give your estimate of his character; you'll give a half-hour's opinion +on a minute's acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"Some people can't form an opinion of a man after a year's +acquaintance with him, but I can. I go by a certain instinct, and when +the wrong sort of man rubs up against me I know it. I don't need to +wait until he has worked me before I find out that he is an impostor. +But, as I was going to say, the trouble with you is that you forget +the difference that exists between new and old cities. A new community +worships material things; and if it pays tribute to an idea, it must +be that idea which appeals quickest to the eye—to the commoner +senses. And in this Chicago is no worse than other raw cities. Fifty +years from now "—</p> + +<p>"Who wants to live fifty years in this miserable world?" McGlenn broke +in. "There is but one community in which the writer is at ease, and +that is the community of death. It is populous; it is crowded with +writers, but it holds an easy place for every one. The silence of that +community frightens the rich but its democracy pleases the poor."</p> + +<p>"I suppose, then, that you want to die."</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"But you didn't want to die yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was the very time when I should have died—I had just eaten a +good dinner. You don't know how to eat, John. You stuff yourself, +John. Yes, you stuff yourself and think that you have dined. The +reason is that you have never taken the trouble to become civilized. +It's my misfortune to have friends who can't eat. But some of my +friends can eat, and they are therefore great men. Tod Cowles strikes +a new dish at a house on the North Side and softens his voice and +says, 'Ah hah.' He is a great man, for he knows that he has discovered +an additional pleasure to offset another trouble of this infamous +life; and Colonel Norton is a great man—he knows how to eat; but you, +John, are an outcast from the table, and therefore civilization cannot +reach you. Civilization comes to the feast and asks, 'Where is John +Richmond, whom I heard some of you say something about?' and we reply, +'He holds us in contempt,' and Civilization pronounces these solemn +words: 'He who holds ye in contempt, the same will I banish.'"</p> + +<p>"But," rejoined Richmond, "civilization teaches one of two things—to +think or to become a glutton. Somehow I was kept away from the feast +and had to accept the other teaching. I don't go about deifying my +stomach and making an apostle of the palate of my month. When I eat"—</p> + +<p>"But you don't eat; you stuff. I have sat down to a table with you, +and after giving your order you would fill yourself so full of bread +and pickles or anything within reach that you couldn't eat anything +when the order was brought."</p> + +<p>"That was abstraction of thought instead of hunger," Richmond replied.</p> + +<p>"No, it was the presence of gluttony. Can you eat, Mr. Witherspoon?"</p> + +<p>"I fear that I must confess a lack of higher civilization. I am not +well schooled in anything, and I suppose that you must class me with +Richmond—as a barbarian. I lack"—</p> + +<p>"Art," McGlenn suggested. "But for you there is a chance. John +Richmond is hopelessly gone."</p> + +<p>"I sometimes feed my dogs on stewed tripe," said Whittlesy, "and the +good that it does them teaches me that man is to be judged largely by +what he eats."</p> + +<p>"There is absolutely no use for all this bloody rot," Mortimer +declared. "Eating is essential, of course, but I don't see how men can +talk for an hour on the subject, and talk foolishly, at that."</p> + +<p>"If eating is essential," Richmond replied, "it is a wonder that you +don't kick against it."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but isn't it a good thing that I don't kick against +non-essentials? Wouldn't I be obliged to kick against this assemblage +and its beastly rot?"</p> + +<p>Mortimer sometimes emphasized his walk with a peculiar springiness of +step, and with this emphasis he walked off, biting the stem of his +pipe.</p> + +<p>"I thought that by this time you would begin to show a weariness of +the Press Club," McGlenn said to Henry.</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you should have thought that. I said at first that I +was one of you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I didn't know but by this time you might have discovered +your mistake."</p> + +<p>"I made no mistake, and therefore could discover none. Let me tell you +that between George Witherspoon's class and me there is but little +affinity. You may call me a crank, and perhaps I am, but I was poor so +long that I felt a sort of pride in the fight I was compelled to make. +Poverty has its arrogance, and foppery is sometimes found in rags. I +don't mind telling you that I have been strongly urged to take what is +called my place in the world; but that place is so distasteful to me +that I look on it with a shudder. I despise barter—I am compelled to +buy, but I am not forced to sell. I am not a sentimentalist—if I were +I should attempt to write poetry. I am not a philosopher—if I were I +shouldn't attempt to run a newspaper. I am simply an ordinary man who +has passed through an extraordinary school. And what I think are +virtues may be errors."</p> + +<p>McGlenn replied: "John is your friend. John thinks that you are a +strong man—I don't know yet, but I do know that you please me when +you are silent and that you don't displease me when you talk. You are +strong enough to say, 'I don't know,' and a confession of ignorance is +a step toward wisdom. Ask John a question to-day and he may say, 'I +don't know,' but to-morrow he does know—he has spent a night with it. +You are a remarkable man, Mr. Witherspoon," he added after a moment's +reflection, "a very remarkable man. Your life up to a short time ago, +you say, was a struggle; your uncle was a poor man. Suddenly you +became the son of a millionaire. A weak nature would straightway have +assumed the airs of a rich man; you remained a democrat. It was so +remarkable that I thought the decision might react as an error, and +therefore I asked if you had not begun to grow weary of this +democracy, the Press Club."</p> + +<p>McGlenn smiled, and his smile had two meanings, one for his friends +and another for his enemies. His friends saw a thoughtful countenance +illumined by an intellectual light; his enemies recognized a sarcasm +that had escaped from a sly and revengeful spirit. But Henry was his +friend.</p> + +<p>"John," said Richmond, "you think"—</p> + +<p>McGlenn turned out his thumb and began to motion with his fist. "I +won't submit to the narrow dictum of a man who presumes to tell me +what I think."</p> + +<p>"But if nobody were to tell you, how would you find out what you +think? Oh," he added, "I admit that it was presumption on my part. I +was presuming that you think."</p> + +<p>"I do think, and if some one must tell me <i>what</i> I think, let him be a +thinking man."</p> + +<p>"John, you cry out for thought, and are the first to strike at it +with your dogmatism. You don't think—you dogmatize."</p> + +<p>McGlenn turned to Henry. "I had two delightful days last week. John +Richmond was out of town."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Richmond, putting his feet on a chair. "Falsehood gallops +in riotous pleasure when Truth is absent. Hold on! I can stand one +wrinkle between your eyes, but I am afraid of two."</p> + +<p>"A man of many accomplishments, but wholly lacking in humor," said +McGlenn, seeming to study Richmond for the purpose of placing an +appraisement on him. "A man who worships Ouida and decries Sir Richard +Steele."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't worship Ouida, but I read her sometimes because she is +interesting. As for Steele, he is decried by your praise. Say, John, +you advised me to change grocers every month, and I don't know but it +would be a good plan. An old fellow that I have been trading with has +sent me a bill for eighty-three dollars."</p> + +<p>"John, he probably takes you for a great man and wants to compliment +you."</p> + +<p>"I don't object to a compliment, but that was flattery," Richmond, +replied, taking his feet off one chair and putting them on another. +"Let's ride home, John; it's 'most too slippery to walk."</p> + +<p>"All right. You have ruined my health already by making me walk with +you. Come on; we'll go now."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII" />CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>AN OLD MAN WOULD INVEST.</h3> + + +<p>When Henry went home to dinner he found, already seated at the table, +old man Colton, Mrs. Colton and Mrs. Brooks. The old Marylander got +away from his soup, got off his chair, and greeted Henry with an +effusive display of what might have been his pleasure at seeing the +young man, but which had more of the appearance of a palavering +pretense. He bowed, ducked his head first on one side and then on the +other—and his colored handkerchief dangled at his coat-tails. He +found his tongue, which at first he seemed to have lost, and with his +bald head bobbing about, he appeared as an aged child, prattling at +random.</p> + +<p>"Hah, hah, delighted to see you again, my dear young man. Didn't know +that I was coming when you were so kind as to take lunch with me +to-day; ladies came in the afternoon; Brooks couldn't come with me, +but he will be here later on. Hah, hah, they are taking excellent care +of us, you see. Ah, you sit here by me? Glad."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Colton was exceedingly feeble, and her daughter appeared as a +very old-fashioned girl in a stylish habit—an old daguerreotype sort +of face, smooth, shiny and expressionless.</p> + +<p>"We have all been talking about you," Colton said, as Henry sat down. +"Your mother and sister think you a very wonderful man, and my dear +friend Witherspoon"—</p> + +<p>"Brother Colton is from Maryland," Witherspoon remarked.</p> + +<p>Colton laughed and ducked his head. Ah, the listless wit of the rich! +It may be pointless, but how laughable is the millionaire's joke.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear young man, we are determined to have you with us," +Colton declared, when he had recovered himself. He nodded at +Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"We are going to try," the great merchant replied. "By the way, I told +Brooks that we'd have to press Bradley & Adams, of Atchison, Kansas. +They are altogether too slow—there's no excuse for it."</p> + +<p>"None in the world; none whatever," Colton agreed. He more than +agreed, for there was alarm in his voice, and the alarm of an old +miser is pitiable. "Gracious alive, can they expect people to wait +always? Dear, what can the world be coming to when we are all to be +cheated out of our rights? We'll have the law on them."</p> + +<p>Money professes great love for the law, and not without cause. The +rich man thinks that the law is his; and the poor man says, "It was +not made for me."</p> + +<p>Among the ladies Henry was the subject of a subdued discussion, and +occasionally he heard Mrs. Colton say: "Such a comfort to you, and +after so many years of separation. So manly." And then Mrs. Brooks +would say: "Yes, indeed."</p> + +<p>Henry noticed that Colton was not accompanied with his mutton-broth +economy. It was evident that the old man was frugal only to his own +advantage, and that his heartiness came at the expense of other men.</p> + +<p>Brooks arrived soon after dinner. The women went to the drawing-room +to talk about Henry, and to exchange harmless hypocrisies, and the men +betook themselves to the library to smoke and to discuss plots that +are known as enterprises. Country merchants were taken up, turned +over, examined and put down ruined. Brooks was as keen and as ardent +as a prosecuting attorney. Every man who owed a bill was under +indictment.</p> + +<p>"You see," he said to Henry, "we have to hold these fellows tight or +they would get loose and smash us."</p> + +<p>"You needn't apologize to me," Henry replied.</p> + +<p>"Of course not, but as you say that you don't understand business, I +merely wanted to show you to what extent we are driven."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I assure you that it is awfully unpleasant," said Colton, "but we +have to do it. And let me tell you, my dear young man, there is more +crime than you imagine in the neglect of these fellows. In this +blessed country there is hardly any excuse for a man's failure to meet +his obligations. The trouble is that people who can't afford it live +too high. Let them economize; let them be sensible. Why, I could have +gone broke forty-odd years ago; hah, I could go broke now. Oh, I know +that we are all accused of being hard, but you have no idea what the +wealthy people of this city do for the poor. Just look at the charity +balls; look at our annual showing, and you'll find it remarkable."</p> + +<p>Henry felt that the charity of the rich was largely a species of +"bluff" that they make at one another. It was not real charity; it was +an advertisement—it was business.</p> + +<p>"My dear friend Witherspoon," said Colton, mouthing his cigar—he did +not smoke at home—"I am going to branch out more. I'm going to make +investments. I see that it is safe, and I want you to help me."</p> + +<p>"All right; how much do you want to invest?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can place my hand on a little money—just a little. I've got +some in stocks, but I've got a little by me."</p> + +<p>"How much?"</p> + +<p>This frightened him. "Oh, I don't know; really, I can't tell. But I +think that I've got a little that I'd like to invest. But I'll talk to +you about it to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>"I think real estate would be about the right thing. I could soon turn +it over, you know. Some wonderfully fortunate investments have been +made that way. But I'll talk to you about it to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Brooke said that he was in something of a hurry to get home, and the +visitors took their leave early in the evening. Witherspoon returned +to the library after going to the door with Colton. He sat down, +stretched forth his feet, meditated for a few moments, and said: "The +bark on a beech tree was never any closer than that old man, and yet +he is kind-hearted."</p> + +<p>"When kindness doesn't cost anything, I suppose," Henry suggested.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's true. He spoke of the wonderful showing of the charities +of this city as though he were a prime mover in them, when, in fact, I +don't think he ever contributed more than a barrel of flour in any one +year. But he is a good business man, and if there were more like him +there would be fewer bankrupts."</p> + +<p>Ellen appeared at the door. "Henry, mother and I are going to your +room to pay you a call."</p> + +<p>"All right, I'll go up with you. Won't you come, father?"</p> + +<p>"No, I believe not. Think I'll read a while and go to bed."</p> + +<p>Henry's room was bright with a gladsome fire. On the table had been +set a vase of moss roses, and beside the vase lay an old black pipe, +tied with a blue ribbon. The young man laughed, and the girl said:</p> + +<p>"Mother's doings. Ugh! the nasty thing!"</p> + +<p>"If my son smoked a pipe when he was in exile," Mrs. Witherspoon +replied, "he can do so now. None of the privileges of a strange land +shall be denied him in his own home."</p> + +<p>She sat in an easy-chair and was slowly rocking. To man a +rocking-chair is a remembrancer of a mother's affection.</p> + +<p>"Light your pipe, my son."</p> + +<p>"No, not now, mother."</p> + +<p>Ellen sat on an arm of Henry's chair. "Your hair would curl if you +were to encourage it," she remarked.</p> + +<p>"Has anybody said anything about curly hair?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, but I was just thinking that yours might curl."</p> + +<p>"Do you want me to look like Brooks?"</p> + +<p>She frowned. "He kinks his with a hot poker. I don't like pretty men."</p> + +<p>"How about handsome men?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have to like them. You are a handsome man, you know."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Your grandmother was a very handsome woman," said Mrs. Witherspoon. +"She had jet-black hair, and her teeth were like pearls. Ellen, what +did Mr. Coglin say when you gave him the slippers?" Mr. Coglin was a +clergyman.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he thanked me, of course. He couldn't very well have said, 'Take +them away.'"</p> + +<p>"But did you tell him that you embroidered them with your own hands?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I told him."</p> + +<p>"Then what did he say?"</p> + +<p>"He pretended to be greatly surprised, and said something, but I have +forgotten what it was. Mrs. Brooks is awful tiresome with her 'Yes, +indeed,' isn't she? Seems to me that I'd learn something else."</p> + +<p>"She's hardly so tiresome with her 'Yes, indeed,' as her father is +with his 'Hah, hah, my dear Mr. Witherspoon,'" Henry replied.</p> + +<p>"But he is a very old man, my son," said Mrs. Witherspoon, "and you +must excuse him. I have heard that he was quite aristocratic before +the war."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he never was aristocratic," Ellen declared. "Aristocracy hampered +by extreme stinginess would cut but a poor figure, I should think."</p> + +<p>"Have we set up a grill here?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witherspoon nodded at Ellen as if to emphasize the rebuke, and +the young woman exclaimed: "Oh, I'm singled out, am I? Who said that +the old man's 'hah, hah,' was tiresome? You'd better nod at your son, +mother."</p> + +<p>But she gave her son never a nod. In her sight he surely could commit +no indiscretion. A moment later the mother asked:</p> + +<p>"Have they talked to you again about going into the store?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they hint at it occasionally."</p> + +<p>"Ellen, can't you find a chair? I know your brother must he tired." +Ellen got off the arm of Henry's chair, and soon afterward Mrs. +Witherspoon took the vacated place. The young woman laughed, but said +nothing. The mother fondly touched Henry's hair and smoothed it back +from his forehead. "Don't you let them worry you, my son. They can't +help but respect your manliness. Indeed," she added, growing strangely +bold for one so gentle, "must a man be a merchant whether he will or +not? And whenever you want to write about poor women, you do it. They +are mistreated; they are made wretched, and by just such men as +Brooks, too. What does he care for a woman's misery? And your father's +so blind that he doesn't see it. But I see it. And I oughtn't to say +it, but I will—he has the impudence to tell your father that I give +too much money to the poor. It's none of his business, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>There was a peculiar softness in Henry's voice when he replied: "I +hope some time to catch him interfering with your affairs."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you mustn't say a word, my son—not a word; and I don't want +your father to know that I have said anything."</p> + +<p>"He shall not know, but I hope some time to catch Brooks interfering +with your affairs. He has meddled with mine, but I can forgive that."</p> + +<p>Henry walked up and down the room when Mrs. Witherspoon and Ellen were +gone. With a mother's love, that gentle woman had found a mother's +place in his heart. He looked at the rocking-chair. Suddenly he seized +hold of the mantelpiece to steady himself. He had caught himself +seriously wondering if she had rocked him years ago.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII" />CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE INVESTMENT.</h3> + + +<p>It seemed to Henry that he had just dozed off to sleep when he was +startled by a loud knock at the door.</p> + +<p>"Henry, Henry!" It was Witherspoon's voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Get up, quick! Old man Colton is murdered."</p> + +<p>When he went down-stairs he found the household in confusion. Every +one on the place had been aroused. The servants were whispering in the +hall. Witherspoon was waiting for him.</p> + +<p>"A messenger has just brought the news. Come, we must go over there. +The carriage is waiting."</p> + +<p>It was two o'clock. A fierce and cutting wind swept across the +lake—the icy breath of a dying year. Not a word was spoken as the +carriage sped along. At the door of Colton's home Witherspoon and +Henry were confronted by a policeman.</p> + +<p>"My orders are to let no one in," said the officer.</p> + +<p>"I am George Witherspoon."</p> + +<p>The policeman stepped aside. Brooks met them in the hall. He said +nothing, but took Witherspoon's hand. The place was thronged with +police officers and reporters.</p> + +<p>Adjoining Colton's sleeping-apartment, on the second floor, was a +small room with a window looking out on the back yard, and with one +door opening from the hall. In this room, let partly into the wall, +was an iron safe in which the old man kept "the little money" that he +had decided to invest in real estate. The window was protected by +upright iron bars. At night, a gas-jet, turned low, threw dismal +shadows about the room, and it was the old man's habit to light the +gas at bed-time and to turn it off the first thing at morning. He had +lighted the gas shortly after returning from Witherspoon's house and +had gone to bed, and it must have been about one o'clock when the +household was startled by the report of a pistol. Brooks and his wife, +whose room was on the same floor, ran into the old man's room. The +place was dark, but a bright light burned in the vault-room. Into this +room they ran, and there, lying on the floor, with money scattered +about him, was the old man, bloody and dead, with a bullet-hole in his +breast. But where was Mrs. Colton? They hastened back to her room and +struck a light. The old woman lay across the bed, unable to +move—paralyzed.</p> + +<p>The first discovery made by the police was that the iron bars at the +window, four in number, had been sawed in two; and then followed +another discovery of a more singular nature. In the window, caught by +the sudden fall of the sash, was a black frock coat. In one of the +tail pockets was a briar-root pipe. The sash had fallen while the +murderer was getting out, and, pulled against the sash, the pipe held +the garment fast. One sleeve was torn nearly off. In a side pocket was +found a letter addressed to Dave Kittymunks, general delivery, +Chicago, and post-marked Milwaukee. Under the window a ladder was +found.</p> + +<p>At the coroner's inquest, held the next day, one of the servants +testified that three days before, while the old man and Brooks were at +the store and while the ladies were out, a man with black whiskers, +and who wore a black coat, had called at the house and said that he +had been sent to search for sewer-gas. He had an order presumably +signed by Mr. Colton, and was accordingly shown through the house. He +had insisted upon going into the vault-room, declaring that he had +located the gas there, but was told that the room was always kept +locked. He then went away. The servant had not thought to tell Mr. +Colton.</p> + +<p>A general delivery clerk at the post-office testified that the letter +addressed to Dave Kittymunks had passed through his hands. The oddness +of the name had fastened it on his memory. He did not think that he +could identify the man who had received the letter, but he recalled +the black whiskers. The letter was apparently written by a woman, and +was signed "Lil." It was an urgent appeal for money.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX" />CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3>ARRESTED EVERYWHERE.</h3> + + +<p>"Who is Dave Kittymunks?" was a question asked by the newspapers +throughout the country. Not the slightest trace of him could be found, +nor could "Lil" be discovered with any degree of certainty. But one +morning the public was fed to an increase of appetite by an article +that appeared in a Chicago newspaper. "Kittymunks came to Chicago +about five months ago," said the writer, "and for a time went under +the name of John Pruett. Fierce in his manner, threatening in his +talk, wearing a scowl, frowning at prattling children and muttering at +honest men, he repelled every one. Dissatisfied with his lot in life, +he refused, even for commensurate compensation, to perform that honest +labor which is the province of every true man, and like a hyena, he +prowled about growling at himself and despising fate. The writer met +him on several occasions and held out inducements that might lead to +conversation, but was persistently repulsed by him. He frowned upon +society, and set the grinding heel of his disapproval on every attempt +to draw him out. Was there some dark mystery connected with his life? +This question the writer asked himself. He execrated humanity; and, +moody and alone, the writer has seen him sitting on a bench on the +lake front, turning with a sullen look and viewing with suppressed +rage the architectural grandeur towering at his back."</p> + +<p>The article was written by Mr. Flummers. As the only reporter who +could write from contact with the murderer, his sentences were bloated +into strong significance. Fame reached down and snatched him up, and +the blue light of his flambeau played about him.</p> + +<p>"Pessimist as he is"—Flummers was holding forth among the night +reporters at the central station—"Pessimist as he is, and a skeptic +though he may be, papa goes through this life with his eyes open. Idle +suggestion says, 'Shut your eyes, papa, and be happy,' but shrewdness +says, 'Watch that fellow going along there.' I don't claim any +particular credit for this; we are not to be vain of what nature has +done for us, nor censured for what she has denied. We are all +children, toddling about as an experiment, and wondering what we are +going to be. Some of us fall and weep over our bruises, and some of +us—some of us get there. He, he, he."</p> + +<p>"Flummers, have they raised your salary yet?" some one asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, and that's why I am disgusted with the newspaper profession. +The country cries out, 'Who is the man?' There is a deep silence. The +country cries again, 'Does any one know this man?' And then papa +speaks. But what does he get? The razzle. A great scoop rewarded with +a razzle. My achievements are taken too much us a matter of course. I +don't assert myself enough. I am too modest. Say, I smell liquor. +Who's got a bottle? Somebody took a cork out of a bottle. Who was it? +Say, Will, have you got a bottle?"</p> + +<p>"Thought you said that your doctor told you not to drink."</p> + +<p>"He did; he said that I had intercostal rheumatism. He examined me +carefully, and when I asked him what he thought, he replied, 'Mr. +Flummers, you can't afford to drink.'"</p> + +<p>"And did you tell him that you could afford it—that it didn't cost +you anything?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho, ho, no! Say, send out and get a bottle. What are you fellows +playing there? Ten cents ante, all jack pots? It's a robbers' game."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In every community a stranger wearing black whiskers was under +suspicion. A detective shrewdly suggested that the murderer might have +shaved, and he claimed great credit for this timely hint; but no +matter, the search for the black-whiskered man was continued. Dave +Kittymunks was arrested in all parts of the country, and the head-line +writer, whose humor could not long be held in subjection, began to +express himself thus: "Dave Kittymunks captured in St. Paul, also +seized in New Orleans, and is hotly pursued in the neighborhood of +Kansas City."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon, sitting by his library fire at night, would say over and +over again: "I told him never to keep any money in the house. He was +so close, so suspicious; and then to put his money in a safe that a +boy might have knocked to pieces!" And it became Mrs. Witherspoon's +habit to declare: "I just know that somebody will break into our house +next." Then the merchant's impatience would express itself with a +grunt. "Oh, it has given you and Ellen a rare chance for speculation. +We'd better wall ourselves in a cave and die there waiting for robbers +to drill their way in. It does seem to me that they ought to catch +that fellow, I told Brooks that he'd better increase the reward to +fifty thousand."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon and Brooks called at Henry's office. "You may publish the +fact that I have offered fifty thousand dollars reward for +Kittymunks," said Brooks, speaking to Henry, but looking into the room +where Miss Drury was at work.</p> + +<p>"That ought to be a great stimulus," Henry replied, "but it doesn't +appear to me that there has been any lack of effort."</p> + +<p>"No," said Witherspoon; "but the prospect of fifty thousand dollars +will make a strong effort stronger."</p> + +<p>"By the way," Henry remarked, "this is the first time you have visited +me in my work-room."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon replied: "Yes, that's so; and it strikes me that you might +get more comfortable quarters."</p> + +<p>"Comfortable enough for a workshop," Henry rejoined.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I presume so. Are you ready, Brooks?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"We have just come from police headquarters," said Witherspoon, "and +thought that we would stop and tell you of the increased reward. You +were late at dinner yesterday. Will you be on time this evening?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so."</p> + +<p>When they were gone, Henry went into Miss Drury's room. "Was that your +father?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And he scolded you for being late yesterday. If he had suspected that +I was the cause, I suppose he would have come in and stormed at me."</p> + +<p>"You were not the cause."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you were helping me with my work."</p> + +<p>"It was my work, too." He tilted a pile of newspapers off a chair, +sat down and said: "I feel at home with you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, am I so homely?" she asked, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Yes, restoring the word to its best meaning. By the way, you haven't +cut off your hair."</p> + +<p>"No, I forgot it, but I'm going to."</p> + +<p>"My sister Ellen has hair something like yours, but not so heavy and +not so bright."</p> + +<p>"I should like to see her."</p> + +<p>"Because she has hair like yours?"</p> + +<p>"What a question! No, because I am acquainted with her brother, of +course."</p> + +<p>"And when you become acquainted with a man do you want to meet his +sister?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are getting to be a regular tease, Mr. Witherspoon. After +awhile I shall be afraid to talk to you."</p> + +<p>"I hope the clock will refuse to record that time. You say that you +would like to see my sister. You shall see her; you must come home to +dinner with me."</p> + +<p>She gave him a quick look, a mere glance, the shortest sentence within +the range of human expression, but in that short sentence a full book +of meaning. One moment she was nothing but a resentment; but when she +looked up again the light in her eyes had been softened by that +half-sarcastic pity which a well-bred woman feels for the ignorance of +man.</p> + +<p>"Your sister has not called on me," she said.</p> + +<p>He replied: "I beg your pardon for overlooking the ceremonious +flirtation which women insist shall be indulged in, for I assure you +that their ways are sometimes a mystery to me; but I admit that the +commonest sort of sense should have kept me from falling into this +error. My sister shall call on you."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, but she must not."</p> + +<p>"And may I ask why not?"</p> + +<p>"My aunt lives in a flat," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Suppose she does? What difference can that make?"</p> + +<p>"It makes this difference: Your sister couldn't conceal the air of a +patron, and I couldn't hide my resentment; therefore," she added with +a smile that brought back all her brightness, "to be friends we must +remain strangers."</p> + +<p>"But suppose I should call on you; would you regard it as a +patronage?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because you are a man."</p> + +<p>"You women are peculiar creatures."</p> + +<p>"An old idea always patly expressed," she replied.</p> + +<p>"But isn't it true?"</p> + +<p>"It must be, or it wouldn't have lived so long," she answered.</p> + +<p>"A pleasing sentiment," he replied, "but old age is not a mark of +truth, for nothing is grayer than falsehood."</p> + +<p>"But it finally dies, and truth lives on," she rejoined.</p> + +<p>"No, it is often buried."</p> + +<p>"So is a mummy buried, but it is brought to light again."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it doesn't live; it is simply a mummy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," she said, "I know that you are wrong, but I won't worry +with it."</p> + +<p>John Richmond opened the door of Henry's room. "Come in," Henry +called, advancing to meet him. "How are you? And now that you are +here, make yourself at home."</p> + +<p>"All right," Richmond replied, sitting down, reaching out with his +foot and drawing a spittoon toward him. "How is everything running?"</p> + +<p>"First-rate."</p> + +<p>"You are getting out a good paper. I have just heard that the reward +for Kittymunks has been increased."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was increased not more than an hour ago."</p> + +<p>"Who is to pay it?"</p> + +<p>"The State, you know, has offered a small reward; the Colossus Company +is to pay twenty thousand dollars, and the remainder will be paid by +the Colton estate."</p> + +<p>"Who constitutes the Colton estate?"</p> + +<p>"Brooks, mainly."</p> + +<p>Richmond put his hand to his mouth. "That's what I thought," said he. +"Do you know Brooks very well?" he asked after a short silence.</p> + +<p>"Not very."</p> + +<p>"What do you think of him?"</p> + +<p>"I despise him."</p> + +<p>"I thought so. As the French say, whom does it benefit?"</p> + +<p>They looked at each other, but said nothing. There could be no mistake +as to who was benefited. After a time Henry remarked: "I see that +Flummers has gone to Omaha to identify a suspect."</p> + +<p>"He did go, but I heard some of the boys say that he returned this +morning. Is your work all done for to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, about all."</p> + +<p>"Suppose we go over to the club."</p> + +<p>"All right. Wait a moment."</p> + +<p>Henry stepped into Miss Drury's room. "You must; forgive me," he said, +in a low tone.</p> + +<p>"What for?" she asked, in surprise.</p> + +<p>"For so rudely inviting you to dinner when my sister had not even +called on you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's nothing," she replied, laughing. "Such mistakes are common +enough with men, I should think."</p> + +<p>"Not with sensible men. What have you here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, some stupid paragraphs about women."</p> + +<p>"They'll keep till to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Mitchell said he wanted them to-day."</p> + +<p>"Tell him if he calls for them that I want them to-morrow. You'd +better go home and rest."</p> + +<p>"Rest? Why, I haven't done anything to make me tired."</p> + +<p>"Well, you don't know how soon you may be tired, and you'd better take +your rest in advance. All right, John," he said in a louder tone, "I'm +with you."</p> + +<p>When they entered the office of the Press Club, a forensic voice, +followed by laughter, bore to them the intelligence that Mr. Flummers +was in the front room, declaiming his recent adventures. They found +the orator measuredly stepping the short distance between this round +table and the post on which was fixed the button of the electric bell. +Led by fondness to believe that some one, moved to generosity, might +ask him to ring for the drinks, he showed a disposition to loiter +whenever he reached the post, and the light of eager expectancy and +the shadow of sore disappointment played a trick pantomime on his +countenance.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho, ho, here come two of my staff. John, I have been talking for +an hour, and the bell is rusting from disuse."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you ring it on your own account?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; you can't expect one man to do everything."</p> + +<p>"Go on with your story."</p> + +<p>"But is there anything in it?"</p> + +<p>"If you mean your story, I don't think there's much in it."</p> + +<p>"If you cut it short enough," said Mortimer, "we'll all contribute."</p> + +<p>"There spoke a disgruntled Englishman," Flummers exclaimed. "Having no +humor himself, he scowls on the—the"—He scalloped the air, but it +failed to bring the right word. "Jim, you'd better confine yourself to +the writing of encyclopedias and not meddle with the buzz-saw of—of +sharp retort."</p> + +<p>"He appears to have made it that time," said Whittlesy.</p> + +<p>"Now, Whit, it may behoove some men to speak, but it doesn't behoove +you. Remember that I hold you in the hollow of my hand."</p> + +<p>"Let us have the story," said Henry.</p> + +<p>"But is the laborer worthy of his hire—is there anything in it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, ring the bell."</p> + +<p>"That's the stuff."</p> + +<p>"Flummers," some one remarked, a few moments later, "I don't think +that I ever saw you drunk."</p> + +<p>Flummers tapped his forehead and replied: "The brain predominates the +jag. But I must gather up the flapping ends of my discourse. I will +begin again."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to repeat that dose of bloody rot?" Mortimer asked.</p> + +<p>"Jim, I pity you. I pity any man that can't see a point when it's held +under his nose."</p> + +<p>"Or smell one when it's held under his eye," someone suggested.</p> + +<p>"You fellows are pretty gay," said Flummers. "You must have drawn your +princely stipends this week." He hesitated a moment, pressed his hand +to his forehead, cut a fish-hook in the air and resumed his recital:</p> + +<p>"When I reached Omaha it was snowing. The heavens wore a feathery +frown."</p> + +<p>"He didn't fill," said Whittlesy.</p> + +<p>Flummers condemned him with a look and continued: "The wind whetted +itself to keenness on a bleak knob and came down to shave its unhappy +customers."</p> + +<p>"He made his flush," said Whittlesy.</p> + +<p>Flummers did not look at him. "I went immediately to the jail, where +one of the rank and file of the Kittymunkses was confined; and say, +you ought to have seen the poor, miserable, bug-bitten wretch they +stood up in front of me. He wore about a half-pint of dirty whiskers, +and in his make-up he reminded me of a scare-crow that brother and I +once made to put out on the farm in Wisconsin. I have seen a number of +Kittymunkses, but he was the worst. I said, 'Say, why don't you wash +yourself?' and the horrible suggestion made him shudder. 'Is this the +man?' the sheriff asked. 'Gentlemen,' I replied, disdaining the +sheriff, 'on the first train that pulls out I am going back to +Chicago; and whenever you catch another baboon that has worn himself +threadbare by sitting around your village, telegraph me and I will +come and tell you to turn him loose.' 'Then he is not the man?' said +the sheriff, giving me a look that told of deep official +disappointment. 'Gentlemen,' I replied, still disdaining the sheriff, +'I never saw this poor wretch before. Tra la.' I met one gentleman in +the town. I think he belonged to the sporting fraternity. He said, +'Will you have something?' and we went into a place kept by a retired +prize-fighter. My friend pointed to a noisy party at the rear end of +the room, and said: 'The city authorities.' 'Should they live?' I +asked, and my friend said, 'They should not.' And then papa was in +town. 'Make me a sufficient inducement,' said I, 'and I will take a +position on one of your newspapers and kill them off. One of my +specialties is the killing of city authorities. Nature has intended +them for my meat. I have killed mayors in nearly every place that is +worthy of the name of municipality; and between the ordinary city +official and papa,' I added, 'there is about as much affinity as there +is between a case of hydrophobia and a limpid trout stream trickling +its way through the woods of my native Wisconsin.' Say, do you know +what he did? He eyed me suspiciously and edged off toward the door. +Oh, it is painful to stand by helplessly and see fate constantly +casting my lot among jays."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Flummers, do you think that you would recognize Kittymunks if you +were to see him?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"Sure thing. Papa's friends may deceive him, but his eyes, backed by +his judgment, never do. Say, I'm getting up a great scheme, and pretty +soon I'm going to travel through the country with it. I'm going to +organize an investment company for country merchants. I've already got +about fifteen thousand dollars' worth of stock ready to issue. Has +everybody been to lunch? I have been so busy that I haven't eaten +anything since early this morning. Joe, lend me fifty cents."</p> + +<p>"And take a mortgage on your investment company?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho, ho, that's a good thing. The other day one of your so-called +literary men said that he would give me two dollars an hour to write +for him from dictation. 'Ha, I've struck a soft thing,' thinks I, and +I goes to his den with him. Well, when I had worked about half an +hour, taking down his guff, he turns to me and says, 'Say, lend me a +dollar.' 'I haven't got but forty cents,' I replied. But he didn't +weaken. 'Well, let me have that,' says he. 'You've got job and I +haven't, you know.' And he robbed me. I've got to go out now and see a +business jay from Peoria. With my newspaper work and my side +speculations I'm kept pretty busy. Joe, where's that fifty?"</p> + +<p>"Gave it to you a moment ago."</p> + +<p>"All right. Say, will you fellows be here when I come back?"</p> + +<p>"Not if we can get out," Whittlesy replied.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you've bobbed up again, have you? But remember that papa holds +you in the hollow of his hand."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX" />CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3>CRIED A SENSATION.</h3> + + +<p>In Chicago was a sheet—it could not be called a newspaper and +assuredly was not a publication—that was rarely seen until late at +night, and which always appeared to have been smuggled across the +border-line of darkness into the light of the street lamps. Ragged +boys, carrying this sheet, hung about the theaters and cried a +sensation when the play was done. Their aim was to catch strangers, +and to turn fiercely upon their importunity was not so effective as +simply to say, "I live here."</p> + +<p>One night, as Henry and Ellen came out of a theater, they heard these +ragged boys shouting the names of Witherspoon and Brooks.</p> + +<p>"Gracious," said Ellen, with sudden weight on Henry's arm, "what does +that mean?"</p> + +<p>"It's nothing but a fake," he answered.</p> + +<p>"But get a paper and see; won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, as soon as I can."</p> + +<p>They were so crowd-pressed that it was some time before they could +reach one of the boys; and when they did, Ellen snatched a paper and +attempted to read it by the light of the carriage lamp.</p> + +<p>"Wait until we get home," he said. "I tell you it amounts to nothing."</p> + +<p>"No, we will go to a restaurant," she replied.</p> + +<p>The sensation was a half column of frightening head on a few inches of +smeared body. It declared that recent developments pointed to the fact +that Witherspoon and Brooks knew more concerning the whereabouts of +Dave Kittymunks than either of them cared to tell. It was known that +old Colton's extreme conservatism had been regarded as an obstruction, +and that while they might not actually have figured in the murder, yet +they were known to be pleased at the result, that the large reward was +all a "bluff," and that it was to their interest to aid the escape of +Kittymunks.</p> + +<p>Before breakfast the next morning Brooks was at Witherspoon's house. A +"friend" had called his attention to the article. Had it appeared in +one of the reputable journals instead of in this fly-by-night smircher +of the characters of men, a suit for criminal libel would have been +brought, but to give countenance to this slander was to circulate it; +and therefore the two men were resolved not to permit the infamy to +place them under the contribution of a moment's worry.</p> + +<p>"The character of a successful man is a target to be shot at by the +envious," said Witherspoon. He was pacing the room, and anger had +hardened his step. "A target to be shot at," he repeated, "and the +shots are free."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know what to do," Brooks replied. He stood on the hearth-rug +with his hands behind him. "I was so worried that I couldn't sleep +after I saw the thing late last night; and my wife was crying when I +left home."</p> + +<p>"Infamous scoundrels!" Witherspoon muttered.</p> + +<p>"I didn't think anything could be done," Brooke continued, "but I +thought it best to see you at once."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"But, after all, don't you think we ought to have those wretches +locked up?" Brooke asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Witherspoon answered, "and we ought to have them hanged, but we +might as well set out to look for Kittymunks. Ten chances to one they +are not here at all; the thing might have been printed in a town three +hundred miles from here."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's so," Brooks admitted; and addressing Henry, who stood at +a window, gazing out, he added: "What do you think about it?"</p> + +<p>Henry did not heed the question, so forgetfully was he gazing, and +Brooks repeated it.</p> + +<p>"If you have decided not to worry," Henry answered, "it is better not +to trouble yourselves at all. I doubt whether you could ever find the +publishers of the paper."</p> + +<p>"You are right," Brooks agreed.</p> + +<p>"Character used to be regarded as something at least half way sacred," +said Witherspoon, "but now, like an old plug hat, it is kicked about +the streets. And yet we boast of our freedom. Freedom, indeed! So +would it be freedom to sit at a window and shoot men as they pass. I +swear to God that I never had as much trouble and worry as I've had +lately. <i>Everything</i> goes wrong. What about Jordway & Co., of Aurora?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Brooks answered. "Jordway has killed +himself, and the affairs of the firm are in a hopeless tangle."</p> + +<p>"Of coarse," Witherspoon replied, "and we'll never get a cent."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not, sir. I cautioned you against them, you remember."</p> + +<p>"Never saw anything like it," Witherspoon declared, not recalling the +caution that Brooks had advised, or not caring to acknowledge it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, everything may come out all right. Pardon me, Mr. Witherspoon, +but I think you need rest"</p> + +<p>"There is no rest," Witherspoon replied.</p> + +<p>"And yet," said Henry, turning from the window, "you took me to task +for saying that I sometimes felt there was nothing in the entire +scheme of life."</p> + +<p>"For saying it at your age, yes. You have but just begun to try life +and have no right to condemn it."</p> + +<p>"I didn't condemn it without a hearing. Isn't there something wrong +when the poor are wretched and the rich are miserable?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but that's no argument."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it? Well, then there shall be none."</p> + +<p>"I must be getting back," said Brooks.</p> + +<p>"Won't you stay to breakfast?" Witherspoon asked. "It will be ready in +a few minutes. Hum"—looking at his watch—"ought to have been ready +long ago. Everything goes wrong. Can't even get anything to eat. I'll +swear I never saw the like."</p> + +<p>"I'm much obliged, but I can't stay," Brooks answered.</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose I shall be down to the store some time to-day. If +anybody calls to see me, just say that I am at home, standing round +begging for something to eat. Good morning."</p> + +<p>Henry laughed, and the merchant gave him a strained look. For a moment +the millionaire bore a striking likeness to old Andrew, at the time +when he declared that the devil had gone wrong. The young man sought +to soothe him when Brooks was gone; he apologized for laughing; he +said that he keenly felt that there was cause for worry, but that the +picture of a Chicago merchant standing about at home begging for his +breakfast, while important business awaited him at the store, was +enough to crack the thickest crust of solemnity. The merchant's +dignity was soon brought back; never was it far beyond his reach. At +breakfast he was severe with silence.</p> + +<p>Over and over again during the day Henry repeated Richmond's words, +"Whom does it benefit" and these words went to bed with him, and as +though restless, they turned and tossed themselves upon his mind +throughout the night, and like children, they clamored to be taken up +at early morning, to be dressed in the many colors of supposition.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI" />CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3>A HELPLESS OLD WOMAN.</h3> + + +<p>In Kansas City was arrested a suspicious-looking man, who, upon being +taken to jail, confessed that his name was Dare Kittymunks and owned +that he had killed old man Colton. Thus was ended the search for the +murderer, the newspapers said, and the vigilance of the Kansas City +police was praised. But it soon transpired that the prisoner had been +a street preacher in Topeka at the time when the murder was committed, +that he had on that day created a sensation by announcing himself John +the Baptist and swearing that all other Johns the Baptist were base +impostors. The fellow was taken to an asylum for the insane, and the +search for Dave Kittymunks was resumed.</p> + +<p>Old Mrs. Colton had not moved a muscle since the night of the murder. +She lay looking straight at the ceiling, and in her eyes was an +expression that seemed constantly to repeat, "My body is dead, but my +mind is alive." Once every week the pastor of her church came to see +her. He was an old man, threatened with palsy, and had long ago ceased +to find pleasure in the appetites and vanities of this life. He came +on Sunday, just before the time for evening services in the church, +and kneeling at the old woman's chair, which he placed near her +bedside, lifted his shaking voice in prayer. It was a touching sight, +one infirmity pleading for another, palsy praying for paralysis; but +upon these devotions Brooks began to look with a frown.</p> + +<p>"What is the use of it?" he asked, speaking to his wife. "If a +celebrated specialist can't do her any good, I know that an old man's +prayer can't."</p> + +<p>"We ought not to deny her anything," the wife answered.</p> + +<p>"And we ought not to inflict her with anything," the husband replied.</p> + +<p>"Prayer was never an infliction to her."</p> + +<p>"But this old man's praying is an infliction to the rest of us."</p> + +<p>"Not to me; and you needn't hear him."</p> + +<p>"I can't help it if I'm at home."</p> + +<p>"But you needn't be at home when he comes."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose I could go over and stand on the lake shore, but it +would be rather unpleasant this time of year."</p> + +<p>"There are other places you can go."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose so. Doesn't make any difference to you, of course, +where I go."</p> + +<p>"Not much," she answered.</p> + +<p>The Witherspoon family was gathered one evening in the mother's room. +It was Mrs. Witherspoon's birthday, and it was a home-like picture, +this family group, with the mother sitting in a rocking-chair, fondly +looking about and giving the placid heed of love to Henry whenever he +spoke. On the walls were hung the portraits of early Puritans, the +brave and rugged ancestors of Uncle Louis and Uncle Harvey, and all +her mother's people, who were dark.</p> + +<p>Ellen had been imitating a Miss Miller, who, it was said, was making a +determined set at Henry, and Witherspoon was laughing at the aptness +of his daughter's mimicry.</p> + +<p>"I must confess," said Mrs. Witherspoon, slowly rocking herself, "that +I don't see anything to laugh at. Miss Miller is an exceedingly nice +girl, I'm sure, but I don't think she is at all suited to my son. She +giggles at everything, and Henry is too sober-minded for that sort of +a wife."</p> + +<p>"But marriage would probably cure her giggling," Witherspoon replied, +slyly winking at Henry. "To a certain kind of a girl there is nothing +that so inspires a giggle as the prospect of marriage, but marriage +itself is the greatest of all soberers—it sometimes removes all +traces of the previous intoxication."</p> + +<p>"Now, George, what is the use of talking that way?" She rarely called +him George. "You know as well as you know anything that I didn't +giggle. Of course I was lively enough, but I didn't go about giggling +as Miss Miller does."</p> + +<p>"Oh, perhaps not exactly as Miss Miller does, but"—</p> + +<p>"George!"</p> + +<p>"I say you didn't. But anybody can see that Ellen is a sensible girl, +and yet she giggles."</p> + +<p>"Not at the prospect of marriage, papa," the girl replied. "To look at +Mr. Brooks and his wife is quite enough to make me serious."</p> + +<p>"Brooks and his wife? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I oughtn't to have said anything, but they appear to make +each other miserable. There, now, I wish I <i>hadn't</i> said anything. I +might have known that it would make you look glum."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that they make each other miserable?"</p> + +<p>"I know this, that when they should be on their good behavior they +can't keep from snapping at each other. I was over there this +afternoon, and when Mr. Brooks came home he began to growl about the +preacher's coming once a week to pray for Mrs. Colton. He ought to be +ashamed of himself. The poor old creature lies there so helpless; and +he wants to deny her even the consolation of hearing her pastor's +voice. And he knows that she was so devoted to the church."</p> + +<p>"My daughter," Witherspoon gravely said, "there must be some mistake +about this."</p> + +<p>"But I know that there isn't any mistake about it. I was there, I tell +you."</p> + +<p>"And still there may be some mistake," Witherspoon insisted.</p> + +<p>"What doctor's treating the old lady?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"A celebrated specialist, Brooks tells me," Witherspoon answered.</p> + +<p>"What's his name?"</p> + +<p>"I don't remember," said Witherspoon. "Do you know, Ellen?"</p> + +<p>"Doctor Linmarck," Ellen answered.</p> + +<p>"Let us not think of anything so very unpleasant," said Mrs. +Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>But the spirit of pleasantry was flown. With another imitation of Miss +Miller, Ellen strove to call it back, but failed, for Witherspoon paid +no attention to her. He sat brooding, with a countenance as fixed as +the expression of a mask, and in his gaze, bent on that nothing +through which nothing can be seen, there was no light.</p> + +<p>"Father, do your new slippers fit?" Mrs. Witherspoon asked. He was not +George now.</p> + +<p>"Very nicely," he answered, with a warning absentmindedness. +Presently he went to the library, and shutting out the amenities of +that cheerful evening, shut in his own somber brooding.</p> + +<p>"I don't see why he should let that worry him so," said Mrs. +Witherspoon. "He's getting to be so sensitive over Brooks."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's his sensitiveness over Brooks, mother," Ellen +replied, "but the fact that he is gradually finding out that Brooks is +not so perfect as he pretends to be."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," the mother rejoined, "but I think he has just as much +confidence in Brooks as he ever had. I know he said last night that +the Colossus couldn't get along without him."</p> + +<p>"Ellen," said Henry, "what is the name of that doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Linmarck. It isn't so hard to remember, is it?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I forgot it."</p> + +<p>Immediately after reaching the office the next day, Henry sent for a +reporter who had lived so long in Chicago that he was supposed +thoroughly to know the city.</p> + +<p>"Are you acquainted with Doctor Linmarck?" Henry asked when the +reporter entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Linmarck? Let me see. No, don't think I am."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear of him?"</p> + +<p>"What's his particular line?"</p> + +<p>"Paralysis, I think."</p> + +<p>"No, I've never heard of him."</p> + +<p>"Well, find out all you can about him and let me know as soon as +possible. And say," he added as the reporter turned to go, "don't say +a word about it."</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>Several hours later the reporter returned. "Did you learn anything?" +Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, about all there is to learn, I suppose. He has an office on +Wabash Avenue, near Twelfth Street. I called on him."</p> + +<p>"Does he look like a great specialist?"</p> + +<p>"Well, his beard is hardly long enough for a great specialist."</p> + +<p>"But does he appear to be prosperous?"</p> + +<p>"His location stands against that supposition."</p> + +<p>"But does he strike you as being an impostor?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not exactly that; but I shouldn't like to be paralyzed merely +to give him a chance to try his hand on me. I told him that I had +considerable trouble with my left arm, and he asked if I had ever been +afflicted with rheumatism, or if I had ever been stricken with typhoid +fever, or—I don't remember how many diseases he tried on suspicion. I +told him that so far as I knew I had been in excellent health, and +then he began to ask me about my parents. I told him that they were +dead and that I didn't care to be treated for any disease that they +might have had. I asked him where he was from, and he said +Philadelphia. He hasn't been here long, but is treating some very +prominent people, he says. There may be a reason why he should be +employed, but I failed to find it."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII" />CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<h3>TO GO ON A VISIT.</h3> + + +<p>A month must have passed since Henry had sought to investigate the +standing of Dr. Linmarck, when, one evening, Ellen astonished her +father with the news that old Mrs. Colton was to be taken on a visit +to her sister, who lived in New Jersey. The sister had written an +urgent letter to Mrs. Brooks, begging that the old lady might +straightway be sent to her, and offering to relieve Mr. Brooks of all +the trouble and responsibility that might be incurred by the journey. +She would send her son and her family physician. Witherspoon grunted +at so absurd a request and was surprised that Brooks should grant it. +The old woman might die on the train, and besides, what possible +pleasure could she extract from such a visit? It was nonsense.</p> + +<p>"But suppose the poor old creature wants to go?" said Mrs. +Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"Ah, but how is any one to know whether she does or not?"</p> + +<p>"Of course no one can tell what she thinks, but it is reasonable to +suppose that she would like to see her sister."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it is reasonable to suppose almost anything when you start +out on that line; but it's not common sense to act upon almost any +supposition. Of course, the old lady can live but a short time, and I +think that if she were given her own choice she would prefer to die in +her own bed. I shall advise Brooks not to let her go."</p> + +<p>"I hope you'll not do that," said Henry, and he spoke with an +eagerness that caused the merchant to give him a look of sharp +inquiry. "I hope that you'll not seek to deprive the sister, who I +presume is a very old woman, of the pleasure of sheltering one so +closely related to her. The trip may be fatal, and yet it might be a +benefit. At any rate don't advise Brooks not to let her go."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's nothing to me," Witherspoon replied, "and I didn't suppose +that it was so much to the rest of you. How I do miss that old man!" +he added after musing for a few moments. "The peculiar laugh he had +when pleased became a very distressing cough whenever he fancied that +his expenses were running too high, and every day I am startled by +some noise that sounds like his hack, hack! And just as frequently I +hear his good-humored ha, ha! He had never gone away during the +summer, but he told me that this summer he was going to a +watering-place and enjoy himself. 'And, Witherspoon,' he said, 'I'm +going to spend money right and left.' Picture that old man spending +money either right or left. He would have backed out when the time +came. Some demand would have kept him at home."</p> + +<p>"His will leaves everything to his wife, I believe," Henry remarked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, with the proviso that at her death it is to go to Mrs. Brooks. +Brooks has already taken Colton's place in the store, and now the +question is, Who can fill Brooks' place?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think you will have any trouble in filling it," Henry +replied. "No matter who drops out, the affairs of this life go +on just the same. A man becomes so identified with a business +that people think it couldn't be run without him. He dies, and the +business—improves."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it appears so," Witherspoon admitted; "but what I wanted to get +at, coming straight to the point, is this: I need you now more than +ever before. One of the penalties of wealth is that a rich man is +forced constantly to fumble about in the dark, feeling for some one +whose touch may inspire confidence. That's the position I'm in."</p> + +<p>"You make a strong appeal," said Henry, "far stronger than any +personal advantages you could point out to me."</p> + +<p>"But is it strong enough to move you?"</p> + +<p>"It might be strong enough to move me to a sacrifice of myself, and +still fail to draw me into a willingness to risk the opinion you have +expressed of what you term my manliness. As a business man I know that +I should be a failure, and then I'd have your pity instead of your +good opinion. Let me tell you that I am a very ordinary man. I haven't +the quickness which is a business man's enterprise, nor that judgment +which is his safeguard. My newspaper is a success, but it is mainly +because I have a capable man in the business office. It grieves me to +disappoint you, and I will take an oath that if I felt myself capable +I'd cheerfully give up journalism and place myself at your service."</p> + +<p>"Father," said Mrs. Witherspoon—and anxiously she had been watching +her husband—"I don't see what more he could say."</p> + +<p>"He has said quite enough," Witherspoon replied.</p> + +<p>"But you are not angry, are you, papa?" Ellen asked.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm hurt."</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry," said Henry, "but permit me to say that a man of your +strength of mind shouldn't be hurt by a present disappointment that +may serve to prevent a possible calamity in the future."</p> + +<p>"High-sounding nonsense. I could pick up almost any bootblack and make +a good business man of him."</p> + +<p>"But you can't pick up almost any boy and make a good bootblack of +him. The bootblack is already a business man in embryo."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon did not reply to this statement. He mused for a few +moments and then remarked: "If it weren't too late we might make a +preacher of you."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witherspoon's countenance brightened. "I am sure he would make a +good one," she said. "My grandfather was a minister, and we have a +book of his sermons now, somewhere. If you want it, my son, I will get +it for you."</p> + +<p>"Not to-night, mother."</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to-night. Ellen, what <i>are</i> you giggling at?"</p> + +<p>"Why, mother, he would rather smoke that old black pipe than to read +any book that was ever printed."</p> + +<p>"When I saw the pipe that had robbed Kittymunks of his coat," said +Henry, "I thought of my pipe tied with a ribbon."</p> + +<p>During the remainder of the evening Witherspoon joined not in the +conversation, he sat brooding, and when bed-time came, he stood in his +accustomed place on the hearth-rug and wound his watch, still +appearing to gaze at something far away.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII" />CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<h3>HENRY'S INCONSISTENCY.</h3> + + +<p>Snorting March came as if blown in off the icy lake, and oozy April +fell from the clouds. How weary we grow of winter in a cold land, and +how loath is winter to permit the coming of spring! May stole in from +the south. There came a warm rain, and the next morning strips of +green were stretched along the boulevards.</p> + +<p>Nature had unrolled double widths of carpet during the night, and at +sunset a yellow button lay where the ground had been harsh so long—a +dandelion. An old man, in whom this blithe air stirred a recollection +of an amative past, sat on a bench in the park, watching the +flirtations of thrill-blooded youth, and pale mothers, housed so long +with fretful children, turned loose their cares upon the grass. It was +a lolling-time, a time to lose one's self in the blue above, or +sweetly muse over the green below.</p> + +<p>One night a hot wind came, and the nest morning was summer. The horse +that had drawn coal during the winter, now hitched to an ice wagon, +died in the street. The pavements throbbed, the basement restaurants +exhaled a sickening air, and through the grating was blown the +cellar's cool and mouldy breath; and the sanitary writer on the +editorial page cried out: "Boil your drinking-water!"</p> + +<p>It was Witherspoon's custom, during the heated term, to take his wife +and his daughter to the seaside, and to return when the weather there +became insufferably hot. It was supposed that Henry would go, but when +the time came he declared that he had in view a piece of work that +most not be neglected. Witherspoon recognized the urgency of no work +except his own. "What, you can't go!" he exclaimed. "What do you mean +by 'can't go'?"</p> + +<p>"I mean simply that it is not convenient for me to get away at this +time."</p> + +<p>"And is it your scheme now to act entirely upon your own convenience? +Can't you sometimes pull far enough away from yourself to forget your +own convenience?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, but I can't very well forget that on this occasion it is +almost impossible for me to get away. Of course you don't understand +this, and I am afraid that if I should try I couldn't make it very +clear to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you needn't make any explanation to me, I assure you. I had +planned an enjoyment for your mother and sister, and if you desire to +interfere with it, I have nothing more to say."</p> + +<p>"I have no business that shall interfere with their enjoyment," Henry +replied. "I'm ready to go at any time."</p> + +<p>The next day Witherspoon said: "Henry, if you have decided to go, +there is no use of my leaving home."</p> + +<p>"Now there's no need of all this sacrifice," Mrs. Witherspoon +protested, "for the truth is I don't want to go anyway. During the hot +weather I am never so comfortable anywhere as I am at home. My son, +you shall not go on my account; and as for Ellen, she can go with +some of our friends. But, father, I do think that you need rest."</p> + +<p>"Very true," he admitted, "but unfortunately we can't drop a worry and +run away from it."</p> + +<p>"But what is worrying you now?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Everything</i>. Nothing goes on as it should, and every day it seems +that a new annoyance takes hold of me."</p> + +<p>"In your time you have advised many a man to be sensible," said Henry, +"and now if you please, permit a man who has never been very sensible +to advise you." Witherspoon looked at him. "My advice is, be +sensible."</p> + +<p>In a fretful resentment Witherspoon jerked his shoulder as if with +muscular force he sought a befitting reply, but he said nothing and +Henry continued: "This may be impudence on my part, but in impudence +there may lie a good intention and a piece of advice that may not be +bad. The worry of a strong man is a sign of danger. The truth is that +if you keep on this way you'll break down."</p> + +<p>"None of you know what you are talking about," Witherspoon declared. +"I'm as strong as I ever was. I'm simply annoyed, that's all."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you see the doctor?" his wife asked.</p> + +<p>"What do I want to see him for? What does he know about it? Don't you +worry. I'm all right."</p> + +<p>His fretfulness was not continuous. Sometimes his spirits rose to +exceeding liveliness, and then he laughed at the young man and joked +him about Miss Miller. But a single word, however lightly spoken, +served to turn him back to peevishness. One evening Henry remarked +that he was compelled to leave town on the day following and that he +might be absent nearly a week.</p> + +<p>"Why, how is this?" Witherspoon asked, with a sudden change of manner. +"The other day you almost swore that it was impossible for you to +leave home, and now you are compelled to go. What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I have business out of town, and it demands my attention."</p> + +<p>"<i>Business</i> out of town. The other day you despised business; now +you've got business out of town. I'll take an oath right now that you +are the strangest mortal I ever struck."</p> + +<p>"I admit the appearance of inconsistency," Henry replied.</p> + +<p>"And I <i>know</i> the existence of it," Witherspoon rejoined.</p> + +<p>"You think so. The truth is that the affair I now have on hand had +something to do with my objecting to leave town last week."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you tell me what it is?"</p> + +<p>"I will when the time is ripe."</p> + +<p>The merchant grunted. "Is it a love affair?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witherspoon became newly concerned. "In one sense, yes," Henry +answered. "It is the love of justice."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon called his wife's attention by clearing his throat. +"Madam, I may be wrong, but it strikes me that your son is crazy. Good +night."</p> + +<p>Henry left town the next morning. He went to New Jersey.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV" />CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<h3>WORE A ROSE ON HIS COAT.</h3> + + +<p>Henry was absent nearly a week, and upon returning he did not refer to +the business that had so peremptorily called him away. Mrs. +Witherspoon still had a fear that it might be a love affair, and Ellen +had a fear that it might not be. To keep the young woman's interest +alive a mystery was necessary, and to free the mother's love from +anxiety unrestrained frankness was essential. And so there was not +enough of mystery to thrill the girl nor enough of frankness to +satisfy the mother. In this way a week was passed.</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you make so much of it," Witherspoon said to his +wife. "Is there anything so strange in a young man's leaving town? Do +you expect him to remain forever within calling distance? He told you +that you should know in due time. What more can you ask? You are +foolishly worried over him, and what is there to worry about?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I am," she answered, "but I'm so much afraid that he'll +marry some girl that I shall not like."</p> + +<p>"It's not only that, Caroline. You are simply afraid that he will +marry some girl. The fear of not liking her is a secondary anxiety."</p> + +<p>"But, father, you know"—</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I know. But he is a man—presumably," he added to +himself—"and your love cannot make him a child. It is true that we +were robbed of the pleasure his infancy would have afforded us, but +it's not true that there now exists any way by which that lost +pleasure can be supplied. As for myself, I regret the necessity that +compels me to say that he is far from being a comfort to me. What has +he brought me? Nothing but an additional cause for worry."</p> + +<p>"Father, don't say that!"</p> + +<p>"But I am compelled to say it. I have pointed out a career to him and +he simply bats his eyes at it. He is the most peculiar creature I ever +saw. Oh, I know he has gone through enough to make him peculiar; I +know all about that, but I don't see the sense of keeping up that +peculiarity. He is aimless, and he doesn't want an aim urged upon +him."</p> + +<p>"But, father, he has made his newspaper a success."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but what does it amount to? Within ten years he might make a +hundred thousand dollars out of it, but"—</p> + +<p>"Oh, surely more than that," she insisted.</p> + +<p>"Well, suppose he does make more than that; say that he may make two +hundred thousand. And even then what does it amount to in comparison +with what I offer?"</p> + +<p>"But you know he wants to be independent."</p> + +<p>"Independent!" he repeated. "I'll swear I don't understand that sort +of independence."</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, with a consoling sigh, "it will come out all right +after a while."</p> + +<p>They were sitting in Mrs. Witherspoon's room. The footman announced +that Mr. Brooks was waiting in the library. Witherspoon frowned.</p> + +<p>"You needn't see him, dear," said his wife.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will. But I am tired and don't care to discuss business +affairs. Of late he brings nothing but bad news."</p> + +<p>The manager was exquisitely dressed and wore a rose on the lapel of +his coat. "I am on my way to an entertainment at the Yacht Club," said +he, when the merchant entered the library, "and I thought I'd drop in +for a few moments."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you did," Witherspoon replied. "Sit down."</p> + +<p>"I haven't long to stay," said Brooks, seating himself. "I am on one +of the committees and must be getting over. Is your son going?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. He hasn't come home yet."</p> + +<p>"He was invited," said Brooks.</p> + +<p>"That doesn't make any difference," Witherspoon replied. "He appears +to pay but little attention to invitations, or to anything else, for +that matter. Spends the most of his time at the Press Club, I think."</p> + +<p>"That's singular."</p> + +<p>"Very," said Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"I was there the evening they gave a reception to Patti, some time +ago," Brooke remarked, "but I didn't see anything so very attractive +about the place."</p> + +<p>"I suppose not," Witherspoon replied, and then he added: "That's Henry +now, I think."</p> + +<p>Henry came in and was apparently surprised to see Brooks. "I have been +detained on account of business," he remarked as he sat down. Brooks +smiled. Evidently he knew what was passing in Witherspoon's mind.</p> + +<p>"My affairs may be light to some people," Henry said, "but they are +heavy enough to me."</p> + +<p>By looking serious Brooks sought to mollify the effect of his smile. +He had not taken the time to think that in his sly currying of +Witherspoon's favor he might be discovered, but now that he was caught +he fell back upon the recourse of a bungling compliment. "Oh, I'm +sure," said he, "that your business is most important. Your paper +shows the care and ability with which you preside over it. I think +it's the best paper in town, and advertisers tell me that they get +excellent returns from it." Here he caught Witherspoon's eye and +hastened to add: "Still, I believe that your place is with us in the +store. You could soon make yourself master of every detail."</p> + +<p>"But we will not talk about that now," Witherspoon spoke up.</p> + +<p>"Of course not; but I merely mentioned it to show my belief in your +son's abilities."</p> + +<p>The footman appeared at the door. "Two gentlemen wish to see Mr. +Brooks."</p> + +<p>"Who are they?" Witherspoon asked.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't give me their names, sir."</p> + +<p>"Some of the boys from the club," said Brooks. "Well, I must bid you +good evening."</p> + +<p>"There was something I wanted to say to you," the merchant remarked, +walking down the hall with him.</p> + +<p>Henry did not get up, but he listened eagerly. Presently he heard +Witherspoon exclaim: "Great God!" And a moment later the merchant came +rushing back.</p> + +<p>"Where is my hat?" he cried. "Henry, Brooks is arrested on a charge of +murdering Colton! Where is my hat?"</p> + +<p>Henry got up, placed his hand on Witherspoon's shoulder, and said: +"Sit down here, father."</p> + +<p>"Sit down the devil!" he raved. "I tell you that Brooks has been +arrested. I am going down-town."</p> + +<p>"Not to-night. Sit down here."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, sir!"</p> + +<p>"I mean that you must not go down-town. You can do no good by going, +Brooks is guilty. There is no doubt about it."</p> + +<p>The old man dropped in his chair. Mrs. Witherspoon came running into +the room. "What on earth is the matter?" she cried. Witherspoon +struggled to his feet. Henry caught him by the arm. "Mother, don't be +alarmed. Brooks has simply been arrested."</p> + +<p>"For the murder of Colton!" Witherspoon hoarsely whispered. His voice +had failed him.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, mother, and we will talk quietly about it. There is no +cause for excitement when you make up your minds that the fellow is +guilty, which you must do, for Mrs. Colton has made a statement—she +saw Brooks kill the old man."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon dropped in his chair. His hands hung listlessly beside +him. Mrs. Witherspoon ran to him.</p> + +<p>"Father!"</p> + +<p>He lifted his hand, a heavy weight it seemed, and motioned her away. +"The Colossus is ruined!" he hoarsely whispered. "Ruined. They'll try +to mix me up in it. Ruined!"</p> + +<p>"You can't be mixed up in it, and the Colossus will not be ruined," +Henry replied.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ruined. You haven't brought me anything but bad luck."</p> + +<p>"I have brought you the best luck of your life. I have helped you to +get rid of a vampire."</p> + +<p>"You have?" He turned his lusterless eyes upon Henry.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have, and if you will be patient for a few moments I will make +it plain to you. But wait, you must not think of going down-town +to-night. Will you listen to me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I was not the only one who suspected that Brooks had something to do +with the murder. Many people, in fact—it seemed that almost everybody +placed him under suspicion. But there was no evidence against him; +there was nothing but a strong supposition. You remember one evening +not long ago when Ellen said that he objected to the preacher's coming +to pray for Mrs. Colton. This was enough to stamp him a brute. Give +that sort of a man the nerve and he won't stop short of any cruelty or +any crime."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to tell me something or do you simply intend to +preach?" Witherspoon asked. His voice had returned.</p> + +<p>"Father, he's telling you as fast as he can."</p> + +<p>"And I must tell it my own way," Henry said. "That same evening I +learned the name of the doctor—the great specialist employed by +Brooks to treat the old lady. But I inquired about him and found that +he was simply a cheap quack. This was additional cause for suspicion. +I called on a detective and told him that I suspected Brooks. At this +he smiled. Then I said that if he would agree to give half the reward +to any charity that I might name, in the event of success, I would +submit my plan, and then he became serious. I convinced him that I had +not only a plausible but a direct clue, and he agreed to my proposal. +I then told him about the doctor; I expressed my belief that the old +woman must know something and urged that this might be brought out if +we could get her away and place her under the proper treatment. Well, +we learned that she had a sister living in New Jersey. The detective +went to see her, and you know the result—the old lady's removal. +Recently we received word that she was so much improved that she could +mumble in a way to be understood, and last week the detective and I +went to see her. This was my apparently inconsistent business out of +town."</p> + +<p>"But tell us what she said," Witherspoon demanded.</p> + +<p>"Her deposition is in the hands of the law." He said this with a sly +pleasure—Witherspoon had so often spoken of the law as if it were his +agent. "I can simply tell you," Henry continued, "that she saw Brooks +when he shot the old man."</p> + +<p>"But how can that be? Brooks and his wife ran into the room at the +same time. They were together."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they ran into the room together, and Brooks had presumably just +jumped out of bed. But be that as it may, Mrs. Colton saw him when he +shot the old man. And if he is guilty, why should you defend him?"</p> + +<p>Witherspoon got up. "You are not going down-town, father," his wife +pleaded. "George, you must not go!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not going, Caroline." He began to walk up and down the room, but +not with his wonted firmness of step. They said nothing to him; they +let him walk in his troubled silence. Turning suddenly he would +sometimes confront Henry and seem about to denounce him; and then he +was strong. But the next moment, and as if weakened by an +instantaneous failure of vital forces, he would helplessly turn to his +wife as though she could give him strength.</p> + +<p>"Don't let it worry you so, father," she begged of him; "don't let it +worry you so. It will come out all right. Nobody can fasten any blame +on you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they will—yes, they will, the wretches. They hate me; they +bleed me every chance they get, and now they want to humble me—ruin +me. Nobody can ever know what I have gone through. Defend him!" he +exclaimed. "I hope they will hang him. I suspected him, and yet I was +afraid to, for in some way it seemed to involve me—I don't know how. +But I knew that the wretches would fix it up and ruin the Colossus. +For weeks and weeks it has been gnawing me like a rat. But what could +I do? I was afraid to discharge him. He's got a running tongue. But +what have I done?" he violently asked himself. "He took Colton's +place—held Colton's interest. I could do nothing. Sometimes I felt +that he was surely innocent. But I fancied that I could hear +mutterings whenever I passed people in the street, and the rat would +begin its gnawing again. He will drag us all down." His voice failed +him, and he sank in his chair. "Ruined! The Colossus is ruined!" he +hoarsely whispered.</p> + +<p>"If you would stop to think," said Henry, "you would know that your +trouble is mostly physical. Your nerves are unstrung. The public is +not so willing to believe any story that Brooks may tell. The Colossus +will not be injured. But I know that you place very little faith in +what I say." The merchant looked at him. "But mark my words: Your +standing will not be lowered—the Colossus will not show any ill +effect. It is too big a concern to be thus ruined. People trade there +for bargains, and not out of sentiment. In a short time Brooks will be +forgotten. It is perfectly clear to me."</p> + +<p>"Is it?" he asked, with eagerness. "Is it clear to you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, perfectly."</p> + +<p>"Then make it clear to me. You can't do it, don't you see? You can't +do it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he can, father; yes, he can," Mrs. Witherspoon pleaded. "It is +perfectly clear to me. You will look at it differently to-morrow. +Come, now, and lie down. Sleep will make it clear. Come on, now."</p> + +<p>She took hold of his arm. With a helpless trust he looked up at her. +"Come on, now." He lifted his heavy hands, got up with difficulty and +suffered her to lead him away.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV" />CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<h3>IMPATIENTLY WAITING.</h3> + + +<p>While it was yet dark, and long before the dimply lake had caught a +glint from the coming sun, Witherspoon asked for the morning papers. +At brief periods of troubled sleep during the night he had fancied +that he was reading of the wreck of the Colossus and of his own +disgrace: and when he was told that the papers had not come, that it +was too early for them, he said: "Don't try to keep them back. I am +prepared." He wanted to get up and put on his clothes, but his wife +begged him to remain in bed.</p> + +<p>"Was the doctor here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, don't you remember telling him that Brooks had been arrested?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't remember anything but a bad taste in my mouth. I know +him; he leaves a bad taste as his visiting-card. What did he say? +Wasn't he delighted to have a chance at me?"</p> + +<p>"He said that if you keep quiet you will be all right in a day or +two."</p> + +<p>"Did anybody else come?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so."</p> + +<p>"Reporters?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so; but Henry saw them."</p> + +<p>"Hum! I suppose he will be known now as Witherspoon the detective."</p> + +<p>"No; the part he took will be kept a profound secret."</p> + +<p>"I hope so; but don't you think he would rather be known as some sort +of freak?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear. You do him an injustice."</p> + +<p>"But does he do me a <i>justice</i>? He's got to pay back every cent I +advanced on that newspaper deal."</p> + +<p>"We will attend to that, father."</p> + +<p>"<i>We</i> will. You are to have nothing to do with it."</p> + +<p>"I mean that he will."</p> + +<p>"That's different. I'll take the thing away from him the first thing +he knows. I'm tired of his browbeating. Isn't it time for those +papers?"</p> + +<p>"Not quite."</p> + +<p>"Have they stopped printing them? Are they holding back just to worry +me now that they've got me down? Where's Henry?"</p> + +<p>"He has just gone out to wait for the carrier-boy. He's coming now, I +think."</p> + +<p>Henry came in with the morning papers. "What do they say?" Witherspoon +eagerly asked. He flounced up, and drawing the covers about him, sat +on the edge of the bed.</p> + +<p>"I'll see," Henry answered.</p> + +<p>"But be quick about it. Great goodness, I can't wait all day."</p> + +<p>"There's so much that I can't tell it in a breath."</p> + +<p>"But can't you give me the gist of it? Call yourself a newspaper man +and can't get at the gist of a thing."</p> + +<p>"Be patient a moment and I will read to you."</p> + +<p>During more than an hour Witherspoon sat, listening; and when the last +paper had been disposed of, he said: "Why, that isn't so bad. They +don't mix me up in it after all. What was that? Brooks seems to he +wavering and may make a confession? But what will he say? That's the +question. What will he say?"</p> + +<p>"How can he say anything to hurt you?" Mrs. Wither spoon asked.</p> + +<p>"He can't if he sticks to the truth. But will he? He may want to ruin +the Colossus. I will not go near him. They may hang him and let him +rot. I will not go near him. The truth is, I have been afraid of him. +The best of us have cause to fear the man we have placed too much +confidence in. Caroline, I'll get up."</p> + +<p>"Not now, father. The doctor said you must not get up to-day."</p> + +<p>"But does he suppose I'm going to lie here and let the Colossus run +wild? Got nobody to help me; nobody."</p> + +<p>"I will go down this morning and see that everything starts off all +right," said Henry.</p> + +<p>"You will? What do you know about it? You could have known all about +it, but what do you know now?"</p> + +<p>"I should think that the heads of the departments understand their +business; and I hope that I can at least represent you for a short +time."</p> + +<p>"For a short time? Oh, yes, a short time suits you exactly. Ellen +could do that, and I'd send her if she were at home." The girl was at +Lake Geneva. "Think you can go down and say, 'Wish you would open this +door if you please'? Think you can do that?"</p> + +<p>The mother put up her hands as though she would protect her son +against the merchant's feelingless reproach. For a time Henry sat +looking hard in Witherspoon's blood-shot eyes; and a thought, hot and +anger-edged, strove for utterance, but an appealing gesture, a look +from that gentle woman, turned his resentment into these consoling +words, "Don't worry. I think I know my duty when it's put before me. +The Colossus shall not suffer."</p> + +<p>How tenderly she looked at him. She made a magnanimity of the cooling +of his resentment and she gave him that sacred reward—a mother's +gratefulness.</p> + +<p>"All right," said the merchant, "Do the best you can."</p> + +<p>His quick discernment had caught the play between Henry and Mrs. +Witherspoon. "Of course I don't expect you to take my place. I want +you merely to show that the Witherspoon family hasn't run away."</p> + +<p>The doctor called and found his patient much improved. "A little rest +is all you need to bring you about again," the physician said. "Your +unsettled nerves have made you morbid. Don't worry. Everything will be +all right."</p> + +<p>The newspaper reports of the arrest of Brooks, although they proceeded +to arraign and condemn him, had on Witherspoon's nervous system more +of a retoning effect than could have been brought about by a doctor's +skill. That Brooks might be guilty, had not been the merchant's fear; +but that he himself might in some way be implicated, had been his +morbid dread. Now he could begin to recognize the truth that with a +black beast of his own creation he had frightened himself; and he +laughed with a nervous shudder. But when the doctor was gone he again +became anxious.</p> + +<p>"Caroline, didn't he ask if there had ever been any insanity in my +family?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no; he didn't hint at such a thing."</p> + +<p>"I must have dreamed it, then. But what makes me dream such strange +things? I thought you told him that my father had been a little off at +times. Didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course not. You never told me that there was ever anything +wrong with your father, and even if there was how should I know it?"</p> + +<p>"But there wasn't anything wrong with him, Caroline, and why should +you say 'if there was.'"</p> + +<p>"Now, father, I never thought of such a thing as suspecting that there +was, and please don't let that worry you."</p> + +<p>"I won't, but didn't Henry bring a paper and keep it hidden until +after I went to sleep?"</p> + +<p>"No, he read them all to you."</p> + +<p>"I thought he brought in a weekly paper and read something about a +widow from Washington."</p> + +<p>"No, he didn't."</p> + +<p>After a time he dozed and then he began to mutter: "It is easier to +pay than to explain."</p> + +<p>"What is it, dear?" she asked, not noticing that he dozed.</p> + +<p>"Did you speak to me?" he inquired, rousing himself.</p> + +<p>"You said something about it's being easier to pay than to explain," +she answered.</p> + +<p>"Did I? Must have been dreaming. Has Ellen come home?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet, but I'm looking for her. Of course she started for home as +soon as she could after hearing the news."</p> + +<p>"What time is it?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty minutes of four," she answered, glancing at the clock.</p> + +<p>"I wonder why Henry doesn't come."</p> + +<p>"He'll be here soon."</p> + +<p>"Has any one heard from Mrs. Brooks?"</p> + +<p>"No. I would have gone over there, but I couldn't leave you."</p> + +<p>"You are a noble woman, Caroline." She was arranging his pillow and he +was looking up at her. "You are too good for me."</p> + +<p>"Please don't say that," she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"I might as well say it as to feel it. Isn't it time for Henry to +come?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so. He'll be here soon, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>"I hope I shan't have to lie here to-morrow. I can't, and that's all +there is about it."</p> + +<p>He lay listening with the nervous ear of eagerness until so wearied by +disappointing noises that he sank into another doze.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI" />CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<h3>TOLD IT ALL.</h3> + + +<p>Witherspoon started. "Ah, it's you. Did you bring the evening papers?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, here they are," Henry answered.</p> + +<p>"What do they say? Can't you tell me? Got the papers and can't tell me +what they say?"</p> + +<p>"They say a great deal," Henry replied. "Brooks has made a +confession."</p> + +<p>In an instant Witherspoon sat on the edge of the bed, with the covers +jerked about him. He opened his mouth, but no word came forth.</p> + +<p>"When he was told that Mrs. Colton had made a statement he gave up," +said Henry. "The confession is not a written one, but is doubtless +much fuller than if it were. I will take the <i>Star's</i> report. They are +all practically the same, but this one has a few pertinent questions. +I will skip the introduction.</p> + +<p>"'I confess,' said Brooks, 'that I killed the old man, but I did not +murder him. I was trying to keep him from killing me. I had gone into +a losing speculation and was in pressing need of money. I knew that it +would be useless to ask him to help me; in fact, I didn't want him to +know that I had been speculating, and I decided to help myself. I knew +that he kept money in the safe at home; I didn't know how much, but I +thought that it was enough to help me out, and I began deliberately to +plan the robbery. I knew that it would have to be done in the most +skillful manner, for the old man's love of money made him as sharp as +a briar when money was at stake; and I was resolved to have no +confederates to share the reward and afterward to keep me in fear of +exposure, I wrote a letter, and using the first name that came into my +head, addressed it to "Dave Kittymunks, General Delivery, Chicago." I +don't know where I picked up the name, and it makes no difference. I +ran up to Milwaukee, dropped the letter in a mail box and was back +here before any one knew that I was out of town. I disguised myself +with black whiskers, went to the post-office and called for the +letter, and took care that the delivery clerk should notice me. Colton +supposed that none but members of his family knew of the safe at home, +and why a robber should know must be made clear; so, wearing the same +disguise, I called at the house one day and told the servant in charge +that I had been sent to search for sewer-gas. I showed an order. A +shrewd colored man had been discharged on account of some +irregularities into which I had entrapped him, and an ignorant fellow +that had agreed to work for less had just been put in his place. One +evening when our family visited the Witherspoons I perfected my +arrangements. I sawed the iron bars at the window and placed the black +coat, with the Kittymunks letter in the pocket, as if the sash had +failed and caught it. It was necessary that the coat should be found, +and it was hardly natural that it should be found lying in the yard, +it must appear that in his haste to get away the robber was compelled +to leave his coat, and this could not be done unless he was forced to +get out of it, leaving the police to suspect that he had done so with +a struggle. I had torn one sleeve nearly off. But the mere falling of +the sash on the tail of the coat would not do, it would pull out too +easily. Then I thought of the pipe. I arranged the safe so that with a +chisel I could open it easily—it was an old and insecure thing, +anyway—and then placed a ladder on the ground under the window. Here +there is a paved walk, so there was no necessity to make tracks. Now, +there was but one thing more, and that was a noise to sound like the +falling of the sash, and which was to wake the old man so that he +might jump up almost in time to catch the robber. I had almost +forgotten this, and now it puzzled me. The vault-room, a narrow +apartment, is between the old man's room and mine, and I could have +left the window up, propped with a stick, and from my window jerked +out the prop, but the cool air would have shown the old man that the +window was raised, and this would have ruined everything. Finally I +decided that the falling of my own window—both are old-fashioned and +are held up by a notched button—would arouse him and that he would +think that the noise came from the vault-room. I would prop it with +the edge of the button so that a slight pull on a string would throw +it. But another question then arose. The weather was cold, and why +should we have our window up so high? How should I explain to my wife? +I would build a roaring fire in the furnace. That would heat the room +too hot and give me an excuse to raise the window. But she would find +it down. I could tell her that the room cooled off and that I put it +down. But I was quibbling with myself. Everything was settled. The +hall-door of the vault-room is but a step from my own door, and was +kept fastened with a spring lock and a bolt and was supposed never to +be opened. I drew back the bolt and the catch, and fixed the catch so +that I could easily spring it when I went out. When everything had +thus been arranged, I went to Witherspoon's to come home with the +folks. The sky was clouded and the night was very dark. When we +reached home the old man complained of having eaten too +much—something he never had cause to complain of when he ate at +home—and said that he believed he would lie down.</p> + +<p>"'The window of the vault-room was never raised by the old man, and +was kept fastened down with an old-time cast-iron catch. I had broken +this off; but, afraid that he might examine the window and the door, I +went with him to his room. And when he went into the vault-room to +light the gas, I stood in the door and talked to him about his +intended investment, and I talked so positively of the great profit +he would surely make that he looked at neither the door nor the +window. Everything had worked well. I bade him and the old lady good +night and went to my own room. My wife complained of the heat, and I +raised the window, remarking that I would get up after a while and put +it down. How dreadfully slow the time was after I went to bed! And +when I thought that every one must be asleep, my wife startled me by +asking if I had noticed how unusually feeble her mother looked. I +imagined that some one was dragging the ladder from under the window, +and once I fancied that I heard the old man call me. The thought, the +possibility of committing murder never occurred to me. The positive +knowledge that I should never be discovered and that I should get +every dollar of his money would not have tempted me to kill him. I lay +for a long time—until I knew that every one must be asleep. Then I +carefully got out of bed. I struck a chair, and I waited to see if my +wife had been awakened by the noise. No; she was sound asleep. I tied +a string to the window button, got my tools, which I had hidden in a +closet and which were mainly intended for show after the robbery was +discovered, and softly stole out. The hall was dark. The old man hated +a gas-bill. I felt my way to the vault-room door and gently pushed it +open, a little at a time. When I got inside I remembered that the very +first thing I must attend to during the excitement which would follow +the discovery of the robbery was to slip the bolt back in its place. +The gas appeared to be burning lower than usual, and I wondered if the +prospect of parting with money enough to make the investment had +driven the old man to one more turn of his screw of economy. Although +I knew how to open the safe, for previous arrangement had made it +easy, I found it to be some trouble after all. But I got it open and +had taken out the money drawer when a noise startled me. I sprang up, +and there was the old man. He was but a few feet from me. He had a +pistol. I saw it gleam in the dim light. I couldn't stand discovery, +and I must protect myself against being shot. I knew that in the +semi-darkness he did not recognize me. All this came with a flash. I +sprang upon him. With one hand I caught the pistol, with the other I +clutched his throat. I would choke him senseless and run back to my +room. He threw up one hand, threw back his head and freed his throat. +We were under the gas jet. My hand struck the screw, and the light +leaped to full blaze. At that instant the pistol fired and the old man +fell, I wheeled about and was in the hall; I sprung the lock after me, +and in a second I was in my own room—just as my wife, dazed with +fright, had jumped out of bed. "Come," I cried, "something must have +happened." And together we ran into the old man's room.'</p> + +<p>"'During the excitement which followed I forgot no precaution; I +slipped the bolt back into place and removed the string from the +button of my own window. My wife was frantic. I did not suspect that +the old woman had seen me, for I was not in the vault-room an instant +after the pistol fired, and before that it was so dark that she could +not have recognized me. If I had thought that she did see me'—</p> + +<p>"'What would you have done?' the reporter asked.</p> + +<p>"'I don't know,' Brooks answered, 'but it is not reasonable to suppose +that I would have let her go away from home. I acknowledge that I +did not care to see her recover—now that I am acknowledging +everything—for at best she could be only in the way, and naturally, +she would interfere with my management of the estate. But if I had +been anxious that she should die, I could have had her poisoned. +Instead, however, I employed a quack, who I knew pretended to be a +great physician, and who I believed could do her no good. In fact, I +didn't think that she could live but a few days.' After pausing for a +moment he added, 'She must have seen me just as the light blazed up, +and was doubtless standing back from the door. I didn't take any +money.'</p> + +<p>"'But why didn't you take the money while the old man was away? Then +you would have run no risk of killing him or of being killed."</p> + +<p>"'I could easily have done this, but he was so shrewd. I wanted him to +believe that he had almost caught the robber.'</p> + +<p>"'Then there is no such man as Dave Kittymunks,' said the reporter.</p> + +<p>"'No,' Brooks answered.</p> + +<p>"'But Flummers, the reporter, said that he knew him.'</p> + +<p>"'I met Mr. Flummers one evening,' Brooks replied, 'and before we +parted company I think that he must have had in his mind a vague +recollection of having seen such a fellow. The public was eager, and +that was a great stimulus to Mr. Flummers.'</p> + +<p>"'Did you feel that you were suspected?' the reporter asked.</p> + +<p>"'Not of having committed the murder, but I felt that I was suspected +of having had something to do with it. But I hadn't a suspicion that +any proof existed. I could stand suspicion, especially as I should +receive large pay for it. A number of men in this city are under +suspicion of one kind or another, but it doesn't seem to have hurt +them a great deal. Their checks are good. Men come back from the +penitentiary and build up fortunes with the money they stole. Their +hammered brass fronts and colored electric lights are not unknown to +Clark Street.'</p> + +<p>"'But you suffered remorse, of course,' the reporter suggested.</p> + +<p>"'I think that there is a great deal of humbug about the remorse a man +feels,' Brooks replied. 'I regretted that I had been forced to kill +the old man, for with all his stinginess he was rather kind-hearted, +but I had to save my own life. It is true that I didn't have to commit +the robbery, but robbery is not a capital crime.'</p> + +<p>"'But the self-defense of a robber, when it results in a tragedy, is a +murder,' the reporter suggested.</p> + +<p>"'We'll see about that,' Brooks coolishly replied.</p> + +<p>"'Do you make this confession with the advice of your lawyer?'</p> + +<p>"'No, but at the suggestion of my own judgment. When I was told that +the old woman had seen the killing and that, of course, her deposition +would be introduced in court, I then knew that it was worse than +useless to protest my innocence. Besides, as she saw it, the tragedy +was a murder, but, as I confess it'—He hesitated.</p> + +<p>"'It is what?' the reporter asked.</p> + +<p>"'Well, that's for the law to determine. There should always be some +mercy for a man who tells the truth. I have done a desperate thing—I +staked my future on it. But I have associated with rich men so long +that for me a future without money could be but a continuation of +embarrassment. I have helped to make the fortunes of other men, but I +failed when I engaged in speculations for myself. I had prospects, it +is true, but I didn't know but Colton had arranged his will so as to +prevent my using his money; and I had reason to fear that my wife was +in touch with him,'</p> + +<p>"'Has she been to see you?' the reporter asked.</p> + +<p>"'That's rather an impertinent question,' Brooks replied, 'but I may +as well confess everything. We haven't been getting along very well +together. No, she hasn't been to see me. Not one of my friends has +called. There, gentlemen, I have told you everything.'"</p> + +<p>When the last word of the interview had been pronounced, Witherspoon +grunted and lay back with his hands clasped under his head.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of it?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"There's hardly any room for thinking."</p> + +<p>But he did think, and a few moments later he said: "Of all the +cold-blooded scoundrels I ever heard of, he takes the lead. And just +to think what I have done for him! I don't think, though, that he has +robbed us of much. He didn't have the handling of a great deal of +cash. Still I can't tell. My, how sharp he is! He didn't mention the +Colossus. But what difference Would it make?" He sat up. "What need I +care how often he mentions it? The public knows me. Nobody ever had +cause to question my credit. Why should I have been worried over him? +Henry, you are right; my trouble is the result of a physical cause. +Caroline, I'm going in to dinner with you."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII" />CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<h3>POINTS OUT HER BROTHER'S DUTY.</h3> + + +<p>In the afternoon of the day that followed the publication of the +confession Flummers minced his way into the Press Club. He wore a suit +of new clothes, and although the weather was warm, he carried a +silk-faced overcoat. Before any one took notice of him he put his coat +and hat on the piano, and then, with a gesture, he exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"<i>Wow!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Why, here's Kittymunks! Helloa, Kit!" one man shouted. "Have you +identified Brooks?" some one else cried, and a roar followed.</p> + +<p>For a moment Flummers stood smiling at this raillery; then suddenly, +and as though he would shut out a humiliating scene, he pressed his +hands across his eyes. But his hands flew off into a double +gesture—into a gathering motion that invited every one to come into +his confidence, and solemnly he pronounced these words:</p> + +<p>"He made a monkey of me."</p> + +<p>"I should say he did!" Whittlesy cried. "Oh, you'll hold me in the +hollow of your hand, will you?"</p> + +<p>Flummers looked at Whittlesy and scalloped the forerunner of a +withering speech; but, thoughtful enough suddenly to remember that at +this solemn time his words and his eyes belonged not to one man, but +to the entire company, he withdrew his gaze from Whittlesy, and in +his broad look included every one present.</p> + +<p>"He made a monkey of me. He stopped me on the street one evening—I +had boned him for an advertisement when I was running <i>The Art of +Interior Decoration</i>—and was so polite that I said to myself: 'Papa, +here's another flip man thirsting for recognition. Put him on your +staff.' Well, we had a bowl or two at Garry's, and the first thing I +knew he began to remind me that I remembered a fellow who must be +Kittymunks, and I said, 'Hi, gi, here's a scoop.' And it was. Oh, it's +a pretty hard matter to scoop papa"—(tapping his head). "Papa knows +what the public wants, and he serves it up. Some of you dry-dock +conservative ducks would have let it go by, but papa is nothing if not +adventurous. Papa knows that without adventure you make no +discoveries. But, wow! he did make a monkey of me. Just think of a +floor-walker making a monkey of papa!" He pressed his hand to his +brow. "Why, a floor-walker has been my especial delicacy—he has been +my appetizer, my white-meat—but, wow! this fellow was a gristle."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Flummers," said McGlenn, "we all love you."</p> + +<p>"Say, John, I owe you two dollars."</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Flummers, you don't owe me anything."</p> + +<p>"But I borrowed two dollars from you, John, when I started <i>The +Bankers' Review."</i></p> + +<p>"No man can borrow money from me, Mr. Flummers. If he gets money from +me, it's his and not mine. We all love you, Mr. Flummers, and your +Kittymunks escapade, so thoroughly in keeping with our estimate of +you, has added strength to our affection. If you wish to keep friends, +Mr. Flummers, you must do nothing which they could not forecast for +you. The development of hitherto undiscovered traits, of an +unsuspected and therefore an inconsistent strength, is a dash of cold +water in the face of friendship. We are tied to you by a strong rope +made of the strands of weaknesses, Mr. Flummers."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no."</p> + +<p>"Yes, made of the fine-spun strands of weaknesses, Mr. Flummers. It is +better to be a joss of pleasing indiscretion than to be a man of great +strength, for the joss has no enemies, but sooner or later the strong +man must be overthrown by the hoard of weaklings that envy has set +against him. Do you desire something to drink, Mr. Flummers?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Now you place your feet on inconsistent and slippery ground, Mr. +Flummers. Remember that in order to hold our love you must not +surprise us."</p> + +<p>"But I can't drink now; I have just had something to eat."</p> + +<p>"Beware, Mr. Flummers. Inconsiderate eating caused a great general to +lose a battle, and now you are in danger. You may suffer superfluous +lunch to change our opinion of you, which means a withdrawal of our +love."</p> + +<p>"Oh, wait a minute or two, John. But never mind. Say, there, boy, +bring me a little liquor. But, say, wasn't it funny that Detective +Stavers should give ten thousand dollars of that reward to the Home +for the Friendless? I used to work for the Pinkertons, and I know all +those guys, and there's not one of the whole gang that gives a snap +for charity. There's a mystery about it somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Probably you can throw some light on it as you did on the Kittymunks +affair," Whittlesy suggested.</p> + +<p>Flummers gave him a scallop. "Papa still holds you in the hollow of +his hand. Here you are; see?" He put his finger in the palm of his +hand. "You are right there; see? And when I want you, I'm going to +shut down, this way." He closed his hand. "And people will wonder what +papa's carrying around with him, but you'll know all the time."</p> + +<p>"My," said Whittlesy, "what a dangerous man this fellow would be if he +had nerve! Oh, yes, people will wonder what you have in the hollow of +your hand, and sooner or later, they will find that you are carrying +three shells and a pea. Get out, Kittymunks. I'm afraid of you—too +tough for me."</p> + +<p>Flummers waved Whittlesy into oblivion, and continued: "Old +Witherspoon gave up his check for twenty thousand, and there the +reward stops, for Mrs. Brooks won't give anything for having her +husband caught. It has been whispered in the <i>Star</i> office that Henry +Witherspoon had something to do with the detection of Brooks, and made +Stavers promise that he would give half the reward to charity. But I +don't believe it. Why should he want to give up ten thousand? But +there's a mystery in it somewhere, and the first thing you know +papa'll get on the track of it. Here, boy, bring that drink. What have +you been doing out there? Have I got to drink alone? Well, I'm equal +to any emergency." He shuddered as he swallowed the whisky, but +recovered instantly, and with a circular movement, expressive of his +satisfaction, rubbed his growing paunch.</p> + +<p>Witherspoon remained three days at home and then resumed his place at +the store. With a promptness in which he took a pride, he sent a check +to the detective. He did this even before he went down to the +Colossus. The physician had urged him to put aside all business cares, +and the merchant had replied with a contemptuous grunt. He appeared to +be stronger when he came home at evening, and he joked with Ellen; he +told her that she had narrowly escaped the position of temporary +manager of the Colossus. They were in the library, and a cheerfulness +that had been absent seemed just to have returned. Witherspoon went +early to bed and left Henry and Ellen sitting there.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think he will be well in a few days?" the girl asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, now that his worry is locked in jail."</p> + +<p>"That isn't so very bad," she replied, smiling at him. "But suppose +they hang his worry?"</p> + +<p>"It may be all the better."</p> + +<p>"Mother and I went this afternoon to see Mrs. Brooks," said the girl. +"And she doesn't appear to be crushed, either. I don't see why she +should be—they wouldn't have lived together much longer anyway. Oh, +of course she's humiliated and all that, but if she really cared for +him she'd be heartbroken. She used to tell me how handsome he was, but +that was before they were married. I think she must have found out +lately what she might have known at first—that he married her for +money. Oh, she's a good woman—there's no doubt of that—but she's +surely as plain a creature as I've ever seen."</p> + +<p>"If I had thought that she loved him," said Henry, "I should have +hesitated a long time before seeking to fasten the murder on him. I +may have only a vague regard for justice, for abstract right is so +intangible; but I have a strong and definite sympathy."</p> + +<p>"We all have," she said. "Oh, by the way," she broke off, as though by +mere accident she had thought of something, "you superintended the +Colossus for two whole days, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't exactly superintend it, but I stood about with an air of +helpless authority."</p> + +<p>"But how did you get along with your paper during all that worry?" she +asked; and before he answered she added, "I don't see how you could +write anything."</p> + +<p>"Worry is a bad producer, but a good critic," Henry replied. "And I +didn't try to write much," he added.</p> + +<p>She put her elbows on the arm of her chair, rested her chin on her +hand and leaned toward him. "Do you know what I've been thinking of +ever since I came home?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Well," he answered, smiling on her, "as you haven't told me and as I +am not a mind-reader, I can't say that I do."</p> + +<p>"Must I tell you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you won't be put out?"</p> + +<p>"Surely not. You wouldn't want to tell me if you thought it would put +me out, would you?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I was afraid this might." She hesitated. "I have been +thinking that you ought to go into business with father. Wait a +moment, now, please. You said you wouldn't be put out. You see how +much he needs you, and you ought to be willing to make a personal +sacrifice. You"—</p> + +<p>He reached over and put his hand on her head. She looked into his +eyes. "Ellen, there is but one thing that binds me to a past that was +a hardship, but which after all was a liberty; and that one thing is +the fact that I am independent of the Colossus, the mill where +thousands of feet are treading. I have one glimpse of freedom, and +that is through the window of my office. It isn't possible that you +can wholly understand me, but let me tell you one time for all that I +shall have nothing to do with the store."</p> + +<p>She put his hand off her head and settled back in her chair. "I +thought you might if I asked you, but I ought to have known that +nothing I could say would have any effect. You don't care for me; you +don't care for any of us."</p> + +<p>"Ellen, it is but natural that you should side with father against me, +and it is also natural that I should decide in favor of myself. You +may say that on my part it is selfishness, and I may say that it is +more just than selfish. But you must <i>not</i> say that I don't care for +you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is easy enough for you to say that you <i>do</i> care for me," she +replied. "It costs but a breath that must be breathed anyway; but if +you really cared for me you would do as I ask you—as I beg of you."</p> + +<p>"Well," and he laughed at her, "there is a charming narrowness in that +view, I must say. If I love you I will grant whatever you may ask; and +if you love me—then what? Shall I answer?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "as you seem to know what answer will be most +acceptable to you."</p> + +<p>"No, not the answer most acceptable to me, but the one that seems to +be the most consistent. And if you love me," he continued, in answer +to the question, "you will not ask me to make a painful sacrifice." +He looked earnestly at her and added: "I think you'd better call me a +crank and dismiss the subject."</p> + +<p>He expected her to take this as a humorous smoothing of their first +unpleasant ruffle, but if she did she shrewdly deceived him, for she +looked at him with the soberest of inquiry as she asked:</p> + +<p>"Do you really think you are a crank?"</p> + +<p>"I sometimes think so," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it simply that you take a pride in being different from other +people. Don't you strive to be odd?"</p> + +<p>"Are you talking seriously?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I will say seriously that I do take a pride in being +different from some people?"</p> + +<p>"Am I included?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nonsense, girl. What are you thinking about?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know you don't care for any of us," she whimpered. "You won't +even let mother show her love for you; you try to surround yourself +with a lordly mystery."</p> + +<p>"If I have a mystery it is far from a lordly one."</p> + +<p>"But it's not far from annoying, I can tell you that."</p> + +<p>"Don't try to pick a quarrel, little girl."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not half so anxious to quarrel as you are."</p> + +<p>"All right; if that's the case, we'll get along smoothly. Get your +doll out of the little trunk and let us play with her."</p> + +<p>She got up and stood with her hands resting on the back of the chair. +"If I didn't have to like you, Henry, I wouldn't like you a single +bit. But somehow I can't help it. It must be because I can't +understand you."</p> + +<p>"Then why do you blame me for not making myself plain, since your +regard depends upon the uncertain light in which you see me?"</p> + +<p>"You are so funny," she said.</p> + +<p>"Then you ought to laugh at me instead of scolding."</p> + +<p>"Indeed! But if I didn't scold sometimes you would rim over me; and +besides, we shouldn't have the happiness that comes from making up +again. Really, though, won't you think about what I have said?"</p> + +<p>"I will think about you, and that will include all that you have said +and all that you may say."</p> + +<p>"I oughtn't to kiss you good night, but after that I suppose I must. +There—Mr.—Ungratefulness. Good night."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII" />CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE VERDICT.</h3> + + +<p>During the first few weeks of his imprisonment, the murderer of old +man Colton had maintained a lightsome air, but as the time for his +trial drew near he appeared to lose the command of that self-hypnotism +which had seemed to extract gayety from wretchedness. To one who has +been condemned to death there comes a resignation that is deeper than +a philosophy. Despair has killed the nerve that fear exposed, and +nothing is left for terror to feed on. But Brooks had not this +deadened resignation, for he had a hope that he might escape the +gallows, and so long as there is a hope there is an anxiety. He had +refused to see his wife, for he felt that in her heart she had +condemned him and executed the sentence; but he was anxious to see +Witherspoon. He thought that with the aid of that logic which trade +teaches and which in its directness comes near being an intellectual +grace, he could explain himself to the merchant and thereby whiten his +crime, and he sent for him; but the messenger returned with a note +that bore words which Brooks had often heard Witherspoon speak and +which he himself so often had repeated: "Explain to the law."</p> + +<p>The trial came. In the expectancy with which Chicago looks for a new +sensation, Brooks had been almost forgotten by the public. His +confession had robbed his trial of that uncertainty which means +excitement, and there now remained but a formal ceremony, the +appointment of his time to die. The newspapers no longer paid especial +attention to him, and such neglect depresses a murderer, for notoriety +is his last intoxicant. It seemed that an unwarranted length of time +was taken up in the selection of a jury, a deliberation that usually +exposes justice to many dangers; and after this the trial proceeded. +The deposition of Mrs. Colton was introduced. It was a brief +statement, and after leading up to the vital point, thus concluded: "I +must have been asleep some time, when my husband awoke me. He said +that he thought he heard a noise in the vault-room. I listened for a +few moments and replied that I didn't think it was anything. But he +got up and took his pistol from under the pillow and went into the +vault-room. A moment later I was convinced that I heard something, and +I got up, and just as I got near the door the light blazed up and at +the same moment there was a loud report as of a pistol; and then I saw +my husband fall—saw Mr. Brooks wheel about and run out of the room. +This is all I remember until I found myself lying on the bed, unable +to move or speak."</p> + +<p>Brooks set up a plea for mercy, and his lawyers were strong in the +urging of it, but when the judge delivered his charge it was clear +that the plea was not entertained by the court. The jury retired, and +now the courtroom was thronged. To idle men there is a fascination in +the expected verdict, even though it may not admit of the quality of +speculation. The jurymen could not be out long—their duty was well +defined; but an hour passed, and the crowd began gradually to melt +away. Two hours—and word came that the jury could not agree. It was +now dark, and the court was adjourned to meet in evening session. But +midnight struck, and still there was no verdict. What could be the +cause of this indecision? It was a mystery outside, but within the +room it was plain. One man had hung the jury. In his community he was +so well known as a sectarian that he was called a hypocrite. He was +not thought to be strong except in the grasp he held upon bigotry, but +he succeeded in either convincing or browbeating eleven men into an +agreement not to hang Brooks, but to send him to the penitentiary for +life; and this verdict was rendered when the court reassembled at +morning.</p> + +<p>Witherspoon was sitting in his office at the Colossus when Henry +entered. Papers were piled upon the merchant's desk, but he regarded +them not. A boy stood near as if waiting for orders, but Witherspoon +took no heed of him. He sat in a reverie, and as Henry entered he +started as if rudely aroused from sleep.</p> + +<p>"Have you heard the verdict?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"By telephone," Witherspoon answered. "Sit down."</p> + +<p>"No, I must get over to the office. What do you think of the verdict?"</p> + +<p>"If the law's satisfied I am," Witherspoon answered. "But you wanted +him hanged, didn't you?" he added.</p> + +<p>"No, but I wanted him punished. The truth is, I hated the fellow +almost from the first."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon turned to the boy and asked: "What do you want? Oh, did I +ring for you? Well, you may go." And then he spoke to Henry: "You +hated him."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because he is a villain."</p> + +<p>"But if you hated him from the first, you hated him before you found +out that he was a villain; and that was snap judgment. I try a man +before I condemn him."</p> + +<p>"And I let a man condemn himself, and some men do this the minute I +see them."</p> + +<p>"But a quick judgment is nearly always wrong."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and yet it's better than a slow judgment that allows itself to +be imposed upon."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes," Witherspoon agreed; and after a short silence he added: +"I was just thinking of how that fellow imposed on me, but I can't +quite get at the cause of my worry over him, and I don't understand +why I should have been afraid that he could ruin me. I want to ask you +something, and I want you to tell me the exact truth without fear of +giving offense: Have you ever thought that at times my mind was +unbalanced? Have you?"</p> + +<p>"You haven't been well, and a sick man's mind is never sound, you +know."</p> + +<p>"That's all true enough; but do I remind you very much of your uncle +Andrew?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, when you worry."</p> + +<p>"I thought so. I've got to stop worrying; and I believe that we have +more control over ourselves than we exercise. Come back at noon and +we'll go out together."</p> + +<p>"I'll be here," Henry replied.</p> + +<p>Just before he reached the office Henry met John Richmond, and +together they stepped into a cigar-store.</p> + +<p>"I've been over to your office," said Richmond. "I have important +business with you."</p> + +<p>"All right, John. Business with you is a pleasure."</p> + +<p>"I think this will be. This is the last day of September, and relying +on my recollection, I know that black bass are about ready to begin +their fall campaign. So I thought we'd better get on a train early +to-morrow morning and go out into Lake County. Now don't say you are +too busy, for <i>I'm</i> running away from a stack of work as high as my +head."</p> + +<p>"I'll go."</p> + +<p>"Good. We'll have a glorious day in the woods. We'll forget Brother +Brooks and the fanatic who saved his life; we'll float on the lake; +well pick up nuts; we'll listen to the controversy of the blue jays, +and the flicker, flicker of the yellowhammers; we'll study Mr. +Woodpecker, whose judgment tells him to go south, but who is held back +by the promising sunshine. The train leaves at eight. I'll be on hand, +and don't you fail."</p> + +<p>"I won't. I'm only too anxious to get out of town."</p> + +<p>Shortly after Henry arrived at the office Miss Drury came into his +room. "Your sister was here just now," she said.</p> + +<p>"Was she?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she came to wait for the verdict."</p> + +<p>"That reminds me. I intended to telephone, but forgot it."</p> + +<p>"She said she knew you wouldn't think of it."</p> + +<p>"Did you quarrel?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"Did we quarrel? Well, now, I like that question. No, we didn't +quarrel. I got along with her quite as well as I do with her brother. +She said that she had often wondered who got up my department, but +that no one had ever told her."</p> + +<p>"She may have wondered, but she never asked. So, you see, I intend to +rid myself of blame even at the expense of my sister."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose she said it merely to put me in good humor with +myself."</p> + +<p>"But wouldn't it have been more in harmony with a woman's character if +she'd given you a sly cut, a tiny stab, to put you in ill humor with +the world?"</p> + +<p>"I hope you don't mean that, Mr. Witherspoon."</p> + +<p>"Why? Would it make you think less of women?"</p> + +<p>"What egotism! No, less of you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if that's the case I'll withdraw it—will say that I didn't mean +it."</p> + +<p>"That's so kind of you that I'm almost glad you said it."</p> + +<p>She went back to her work, but a few moments later she returned, and +now she appeared to be embarrassed. "You must pardon me," she said.</p> + +<p>"Pardon you? What for?"</p> + +<p>"For speaking so rudely just now. You constantly make me forget that I +am working for you."</p> + +<p>"That's a high compliment. But I didn't notice that you spoke rudely."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I said 'what egotism,' and I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>"You must not be sorry, for if you meant what you said, I deserved +it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then you really did mean what you said about women."</p> + +<p>Henry laughed. "Miss Drury, don't worry over anything I say; and +remember that I'm pleased whenever you forget that you are working for +me. You didn't know that I was instrumental in the arrest of Brooks, +did you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no, I never thought of such a thing."</p> + +<p>"You must keep it to yourself, but I was, and why? I hated him. Once +he suggested to me that he would like to have you take lunch with him. +I told him that you didn't go out with any one, and with +coldbloodedness he replied, 'Ah, she hasn't been here long.' I hated +him from that moment. Don't you see what a narrow-minded fellow I am?"</p> + +<p>"Narrow-minded!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, to move the law against a man merely because he had spoken +lightly of—of my friend."</p> + +<p>She was leaning against the door-case and was looking down. She +dropped a paper. Henry glanced at the window, which he called his +loop-hole of freedom, for through it no Colossus could be seen. He +turned slowly and looked toward the door. The girl was gone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX" />CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<h3>A DAY OF REST.</h3> + + +<p>Early the next morning Henry and Richmond were on a train, speeding +away from the roar, the clang, the turmoil, the smoke, the atmospheric +streams of stench, the trouble of the city. They saw a funeral +procession, and Richmond remarked: "They have killed a drone and are +dragging him out of the hive, and as they have set out so early they +must be going to pay him the compliment of a long haul." They passed +stations where men who had spent a quiet night at home paced up and +down impatiently waiting for a train to whirl them back to their daily +strife. "They play cards going in and coming out," said Richmond, "but +at noon they are eager to cut one another's throats."</p> + +<p>They ran through a forest, dense and wild-looking, but in the wildness +there was a touch of man's deceiving art. They crossed a small river +and caught sight of a barefooted boy trying to steal a boat. They sped +over the prairie and flew past an old Dutch windmill. It was an odd +sight, an un-American glimpse—a wink at a strange land. They +commented on everything that whirled within sight—a bend in the road, +a crooked Line, a tumble-down fence. They were boys. They talked about +names that they held a prejudice against, and occasionally one of them +would say, "No, I don't like a man of that name."</p> + +<p>"There," Richmond spoke up, "I never knew a man of that name that +wasn't a wolf. But sometimes one good fellow offsets a whole +generation of bad names. I never liked the name Witherspoon until I +met you."</p> + +<p>"How do you like DeGolyer?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"That's not so had, but it isn't free from political scandal. I rather +like it—strikes me that there might be a pretty good fellow of that +name. Let me see. We'll get off about three miles this side of Lake +Villa and go over to Fourth Lake. The woods over there are beautiful."</p> + +<p>"We should have insisted on McGlenn's coming," said Henry.</p> + +<p>"No," Richmond replied, "the country is a bore to John. Once he came +out with me and found fault with what he termed the loose methods of +nature. I pointed out a hill, and he said that it wasn't so graceful +as a mound in the park. I waved my hand toward a pastoral stretch of +valley, and he said, 'Yes, but it isn't Drexel Boulevard.' Art is the +mistress of John's mind. His emotions are never stirred by a simple +tune, but the climax of an opera tumbles him over and over in ecstasy. +He is one of the truest of friends, and he is as game as a brook +trout. He has associated with drunkards, but was never drunk; and +during his early days in Chicago he lived with gamblers, but he came +out an honorable man."</p> + +<p>"I have been reading his novels," said Henry, "and in places he is as +sharp as broken glass."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but he is too much given to didacticism. Out of mischief I tell +him that he sets up a theory, calls it a character, and talks through +it. But he is strong, and his technique is fine."</p> + +<p>"In Paris he would have been a great man," Henry replied.</p> + +<p>They got off at a milk station and strolled along a road. A piece of +newspaper fluttered on the ground in front of them.</p> + +<p>"There is just enough of a breeze to stir a scandal," said Richmond, +treading upon the paper.</p> + +<p>"When I find a newspaper in an out-of-the-way place," Henry replied, +"I fancy that the world has lost one of its visiting-cards."</p> + +<p>They stopped at a farm-house, engaged a boat, and then went down to +the lake. Nature wore a thoughtful, contemplative smile, and the lake +was a dimple. A flawless day; an Indian summer day, gauzed with a +glowing haze. And the smaller trees, in recognition of this +grape-juice time of year, had adorned themselves in red. October, the +sweetest and mellowest stanza in God Almighty's poem—the dreamy, +lulling lines between hot Summer's passion and Winter's cold severity. +On the train they had been boys, but now they were men, looking at the +tranquil, listening to the immortal.</p> + +<p>"Did you speak?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"No," said Richmond, "it was October."</p> + +<p>They floated out on the lake. Mud-hens, in their midsummer fluttering, +had woven the rushes into a Gobelin tapestry. The deep notes of the +old frog were hushed, but in an out-of-the-way nook the youngster was +trying his voice on the water-dog. A dragon-fly lighted on a stake and +flashed a sunbeam from his bedazzled wing; and a bright bug, like a +streak of blue flame, zigzagged his way across the smooth water.</p> + +<p>An hour passed. "They won't bite," said Richmond. "In this pervading +dreaminess they have forgotten their materialism."</p> + +<p>"Probably they are tired of minnows," Henry replied. "Suppose we try +frogs."</p> + +<p>"No, I have sworn never to bait with another frog. It's too much like +patting a human being on a hook. The last frog I used reached up, took +hold of the hook and tried to take it out. No, I can't fish with a +frog."</p> + +<p>"But you would catch a bass, and you know that it must hurt him—in +fact, you know that it's generally fatal."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it's his rapacity that gets him into trouble. I don't +believe they're going to bite. Suppose we go over yonder and wallow +under that tree."</p> + +<p>"All right. I don't care to catch a fish now anyway. It would be a +disturbance to pull him out. Our trip has already paid us a large +profit. With one exception it has been more than a year since I have +seen anything outside of that monstrous town. As long as the spirit of +the child remains with the man, he loves the country. All children are +fond of the woods—the deep shade holds a mystery."</p> + +<p>They lay on the thick grass under an oak. On one side of the tree was +an old scar, made with an axe, and Henry, pointing to the scar, said: +"To cut down this tree was once the task assigned some lusty young +fellow, but just as he had begun his work, a neighbor came along and +told him that his strong arm was needed by his country; and he put +down his axe and took up a gun."</p> + +<p>"That may be," Richmond replied, "Many a hero has sprung from this +land; these meadows have many times been mowed by men who went away +to reap and who were reaped at Gettysburg."</p> + +<p>After a time they went out in the boat again, and were on the water +when the sun lost its splendor and, hanging low, fired the distant +wood-top. And now there was a hush as if all the universe waited for +the dozing day to sink into sounder sleep. The sun went down, a bird +screamed, and nature began her evening hum.</p> + +<p>In the darkness they lost the path that led through the woods. They +made an adventure of this, and pretended that they might not find +their way out until morning. They wandered about in a laughing +aimlessness, and there was a tone of disappointment in Richmond's +voice when he halted and said, "Here's the road."</p> + +<p>They went to bed in the farmer's spare room, where the subscription +book, flashing without and dull within, lay on the center table. A +plaster-of-paris kitten, once the idol of a child whose son now +doubtless lay in a national burial-ground, looked down from the +mantel-piece. There was the frail rocking-chair that was never +intended to be sat in, and on the wall, in an acorn-studded frame, was +a faded picture entitled "The Return of the Prodigal."</p> + +<p>Richmond was sinking to sleep when Henry called him.</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know you were asleep."</p> + +<p>"I wasn't. What were you going to say?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing in particular—was just going to ask what you think of a +man who lives a lie?"</p> + +<p>"I should think," Richmond answered, "that he must be a pretty natural +sort of a fellow."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX" />CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<h3>A MOTHER'S REQUEST.</h3> + + +<p>At dinner, the evening after Henry had returned from the country, +Ellen caused her mother to look up by saying that Miss Miller's chance +was gone.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Mrs. Witherspoon asked. "I wasn't aware that Miss +Miller ever had any chance, as you are pleased to term it. But why +hasn't she as much chance now as she ever had?"</p> + +<p>"Because her opportunity has been killed."</p> + +<p>"Was it ever alive?" Henry asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, but it is dead now. Mother, you ought to see the young woman +I saw at Henry's office the other day. Look, he's trying to blush. Oh, +she's dazzling with her great blue eyes."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witherspoon's look demanded an explanation.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Henry, "she means our book-reviewer."</p> + +<p>"I don't like literary women," Mrs. Witherspoon replied, with stress +in the movement of her head and with prejudice in the compression of +her lips. "They are too—too uppish, I may say."</p> + +<p>"But Miss Drury makes no literary pretensions," Henry rejoined.</p> + +<p>"I should think not," Ellen spoke up. "I didn't take her to be +literary, she was so neatly dressed."</p> + +<p>"When you cease so lightly to discuss a noble-minded girl—a friend +of mine—you will do me a great favor," Henry replied.</p> + +<p>"What's all this?" Witherspoon asked. He had paid no attention to this +trifling set-to and had caught merely the last accent of it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing, I'm sure," Ellen answered.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then, we can easily put it aside. Henry, what was it you +said to-day at noon about going away?"</p> + +<p>"I said that I was going with a newspaper excursion to Mexico."</p> + +<p>"Oh, surely, not so far as that!" Mrs. Witherspoon exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"It won't take long, mother."</p> + +<p>"No, but it's so far; and I should think that you've had enough of +that country."</p> + +<p>"I've never been in Mexico."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, all those countries down there are just the same, and I +should think that when you have seen one your first impression is that +you don't want to see another."</p> + +<p>"They are restful at any rate," he replied.</p> + +<p>"But can't you rest nearer home?"</p> + +<p>"I could, but I have made up my mind to go with this excursion. I'll +not be gone long."</p> + +<p>"When are you going to start?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow evening."</p> + +<p>"So soon as that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I—I didn't decide until to-day."</p> + +<p>"I don't like to have you go so far, but you know best, I suppose. Are +you going out this evening?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, I wish to have a talk with you alone. Come to my +sitting-room."</p> + +<p>"With pleasure," he answered.</p> + +<p>He thought that he knew the subject upon which she had chosen to talk; +he saw that she was worried over Miss Drury; but when he had gone into +her room and taken a seat beside her, he was surprised that she began +to speak of Witherspoon's health.</p> + +<p>"I know," she said, "that he is getting stronger, but he needs one +great stimulus—he needs you. Please don't look at me that way." She +took his hand, and it was limp in her warm grasp. "You know that I've +always taken your part."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother, God bless you."</p> + +<p>"And you know that I wouldn't advise you against your own +interest—you know, my son, that I love you."</p> + +<p>His hand closed upon hers, and his eyes, which for a moment had been +cold and rebellious, now were warm with the light of affection and +obedience.</p> + +<p>"I will do what you ask," he said.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, my son."</p> + +<p>She arose, and hastening to the door, called: "George! oh, George!"</p> + +<p>Witherspoon answered, and a moment later he came into the room. +"George, our son will take his proper place."</p> + +<p>Henry got up, and the merchant caught him by the hand. "You don't know +how strong this makes me!" He rubbed his eyes and continued: "This is +the first time I have seen you in your true light. You are a strong +man—you are not easily influenced. Sit down; I want to look at you. +Yes, you are a strong man, and you will be stronger. I will buy the +Colton interest—the Witherspoons shall be known everywhere. To-morrow +we will make the arrangements."</p> + +<p>"I start for Mexico to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you'll not be gone long. The trip will be good for you. Let +me have a chair," he said. "Thank you," he added, when a chair had +been placed for him. "I am quite beside myself—I see things in a new +light." He sat down, reached over and took Henry's hands; he shoved +himself back and looked at the young man. "Age is coming on, but I'll +see myself reproduced."</p> + +<p>"But not supplanted," Henry said.</p> + +<p>"No, not until the time comes. But the time must come. Ah, after this +life, what then? To be remembered. But what serves this purpose? A +perpetuation of our interests. After you, your son—the man dies, but +the name lives. No one of any sensibility can look calmly on the +extinction of his name."</p> + +<p>He arose with a new ease, and with a vigor that had long been absent +from his step, paced up and down the room. "You will not find it a +sacrifice, my son; it will become a fascination. It is not the love of +money, but the consciousness of force. The lion enjoys his own +strength, but the hare is frightened at his own weakness and runs when +no danger is near. Small tradesmen may be ignorant, but a large +merchant must be wise, for his wisdom has made him large. Trade is the +realization of logic, and success is the fruit of philosophy. People +wonder at the achievements of a man whom they take to be ignorant; but +that man has a secret intelligence somewhere; and if they could +discover it they would imitate him. Don't you permit yourself to feel +that any mental force is too high for business. The statesman is but +a business man. Behind the great general is the nation's backbone, and +that backbone is a financier. Let me see, what time is it?" He looked +at his watch. "Come, we will all go to the theater."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon drove Henry to the railway station the next evening, and +during the drive he talked almost ceaselessly. He complimented Henry +upon the wise slowness with which he had made up his mind; there was +always too much of impulse in a quick decision. He pointed his whip at +a house and said: "A lonely old man lives there; he has built up a +fortune, but his name will be buried with him." He spoke of his +religious views. There must be a hereafter, but in the future state +strength must rule; it was the order of the universe, the will of +nature, the decree of eternity. He talked of the books that he had +read, and then he turned to business. In a commercial transaction +there must be no sentiment; financial credit must be guarded as a +sacred honor. Every debt must be paid; every cent due must be +extracted. It might cause distress, but distress was an inheritance of +life.</p> + +<p>To this talk the young man listened vaguely; he said neither yes nor +no, and his silence was taken for close attention.</p> + +<p>When they arrived at the station, Witherspoon got out of the buggy and +with Henry walked up and down the concrete floor along the iron fence. +It was here that the stranger had wonderingly gazed at the crowd as he +held up young Henry's chain.</p> + +<p>"Are you going through New Orleans?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; will be there one day."</p> + +<p>"You are pretty well acquainted in that town, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"With the streets," Henry answered.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could go with you, but I can't. Next year perhaps I can get +away oftener."</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you have cause to place confidence in me."</p> + +<p>"I have the confidence now; all that remains for you to do is to +become acquainted with the details of your new position."</p> + +<p>"And there the trouble may lie."</p> + +<p>"You underrate yourself. A man who can pick up an education can with a +teacher learn to do almost anything."</p> + +<p>"But when I was a boy there was a pleasure in a lesson because I felt +that I was stealing it."</p> + +<p>The merchant laughed and drew Henry closer to him. "If we may believe +the envious, the quality of theft may not be lacking in your future +work," he said.</p> + +<p>After a short silence Henry remarked: "You say that I am to perpetuate +your name."</p> + +<p>"Yes, surely."</p> + +<p>"I suppose, then, that you claim the right to direct me in my +selection of a wife."</p> + +<p>Again the merchant drew Henry closer to him. "Not to direct, but to +advise," he answered.</p> + +<p>"A rich girl, I presume."</p> + +<p>"A suitable match at least."</p> + +<p>"Suitable to you or to me?"</p> + +<p>"To both—to us all. But we'll think about that after a while."</p> + +<p>"I have thought about it; the girl is penniless."</p> + +<p>"What! I hope you haven't committed yourself." They were farther apart +now.</p> + +<p>"Not by what I have uttered—and she may care nothing for me—but my +actions must have said that I love her."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by 'love her'?" the merchant angrily demanded.</p> + +<p>"Is it possible that you have forgotten?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not," he said, softening. "Who is she?"</p> + +<p>"A girl whose life has been a devotion—an angel."</p> + +<p>"Bosh! That's all romance. Young man, this is Chicago, and Chicago is +the material end—the culmination of the nineteenth century."</p> + +<p>"And this girl is the culmination of purity and divine womanhood—of +love!" He stopped short, looked at Witherspoon, and said: "If you say +a word against her I will not go into the store—I'll set fire to it +and burn it down."</p> + +<p>They were in a far corner, and now, standing apart, were looking at +each other. The young man's eyes snapped with anger.</p> + +<p>"Come, don't fly off that way," said the merchant. "You may choose for +yourself, of course. Oh, you've got some of the old man's +pigheadedness, have you? All right; it will keep men from running over +you."</p> + +<p>He took Henry's arm, and they walked back toward the gate.</p> + +<p>"I won't say anything to your mother about it."</p> + +<p>"You may do as you like."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's best not to mention it yet a while. Will you sell your +newspaper as soon as you return?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"All right. Then there'll be nothing in the way. Your train's about +ready. Take good care of yourself, and come back rested. Telegraph me +whenever you can. Good-by."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI" />CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<h3>A MOMENT OF ARROGANCE.</h3> + + +<p>Henry wandered through the old familiar streets. How vividly came back +the years, the dreary long ago! Here, on a door-step, he had passed +many a nodding hour, kept in half-consciousness by the clank of the +printing-press, waiting for the dawn and his bundle of newspapers. No +change had come to soften the truth of the picture that a by-gone +wretchedness threw upon his memory. The attractive fades, but how +eternal is the desolate! Yonder he could see the damp wall where he +used to hunt for snails, and farther down the narrow street was the +house in which had lived the old Italian woman. "You think I'm a +stranger," he mused, as he passed a policeman, "but I know all this. I +have been in dens here that you have never seen."</p> + +<p>He went to the Foundlings' Home and walked up and down in front of the +long, low building. An old woman, dragging a rocking-chair, came out +on the veranda and sat down. He halted at the gate, stood for a moment +and then rang the bell. A negro opened the gate and politely invited +him to enter. The old woman arose as he came up the steps.</p> + +<p>"Keep your seat, madam."</p> + +<p>"Did you want to see anybody?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No; and don't let me disturb you."</p> + +<p>He gave her a closer look and thought that he remembered her as the +woman who had taken him on her lap and told him that his father was +dead.</p> + +<p>"No disturbance at all," she answered. "Is there anything I can do for +you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I should like to look through this place."</p> + +<p>"Very well, but you may find things pretty badly tumbled up. We're +cleaning house. Come this way, please."</p> + +<p>He saw the corner in which he used to sleep, and there was the same +iron bedstead, with a fever-fretted child lying upon it. He thought of +the nights when he had cried himself to sleep, and of the mornings +when he lay there weaving his fancies while a spider high above the +window was spinning his web. There was the same old smell, and he +sniffed the sorrow of his childhood.</p> + +<p>"How long has this been here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"He was brought here about two weeks ago."</p> + +<p>"I mean the bedstead. How long has it been in this corner?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't say as to that. I thought you meant the child. I've been +here a long time, and I never saw the bedstead anywhere else. It will +soon be thirty years since I came here. Do you care to go into any of +the other rooms?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you."</p> + +<p>They returned to the veranda. "Won't you sit down?" the old woman +asked.</p> + +<p>"No, I've but a few moments to stay. By the way, some time ago I met a +man who said that he had lived here when a child. I was trying to +think of his name. Oh, it was a man named Henry DeGolyer, I believe. +Do you remember him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it was a long time ago. I heard somebody say that he lived +in the city here, but he never came out to see us. Oh, yes, I remember +him. He was a stupid little thing, but that didn't keep him from being +mean. He oughtn't to have been taken in here, for he had a father."</p> + +<p>"Did you know his father?"</p> + +<p>"Who? John DeGolyer? I reckon I did, and he wa'n't no manner account, +nuther. He had sense enough, but he throw himself away with liquor. He +painted a picture of my youngest sister, and everybody said that it +favored her mightily, but John wa'n't no manner account."</p> + +<p>"Do you remember his wife?"</p> + +<p>"Not much. He married a young creature down the river and broke her +heart, folks said."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see her?"</p> + +<p>His voice had suddenly changed, and the old woman looked sharply at +him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, several times. She was a tall, frail, black-eyed creature, and +she might have done well if she hadn't ever met John DeGolyer. But +won't you sit down?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, I'm going now. You are the matron, I presume."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir—have been now for I hardly know how long."</p> + +<p>"If I send some presents to the children will you see that they are +properly distributed?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but for goodness' sake don't send any drums or horns."</p> + +<p>"I won't. How many boys have you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, we've got a good many, I can tell you. You see, this isn't a +regular foundlings' home. We take up poor children from most, +everywhere. We've got ninety-three boys."</p> + +<p>And how many girls?"</p> + +<p>"We've got a good many of them, too, I can tell you. +Seventy-odd—seventy-five, I think."</p> + +<p>"All right. Now don't forget your promise. Good day, madam."</p> + +<p>He went to a large toy-shop and began to buy in a way that appeared +likely to exhaust the stock.</p> + +<p>"Where do you live?" asked the proprietor of the shop.</p> + +<p>"In Chicago."</p> + +<p>"What, you ain't going to ship these toys there and try to make +anything on them, are you?"</p> + +<p>"No; I want them sent out to the Foundlings' Home. What's your bill?"</p> + +<p>The man figured up four hundred and ten dollars. "Come with me to the +bank," said Henry.</p> + +<p>"Nearly all you Chicago men are rich," remarked the toy merchant as +they walked along. "I've had a notion to sell out and move there +myself. Chicago's reaching out after everything, and New Orleans is +doing more and more trading with her every year. I bought a good many +of these toys from a Chicago drummer. He sells everything—represents +a concern called the Colossus."</p> + +<p>Henry settled for the toys, and then continued his stroll about the +city. A strange sadness depressed him. The old woman's words—"and +broke her heart, folks said"—rang in his ears. Had he been born as a +mere incident of nature, or was it intended that he should achieve +something? Was he an accident or was he designed? When he thought of +his mother, his heart bled; but to think of his father made it beat +with anger. When he became a member of the Witherspoon family, his +conscience had constantly plied him with questions until, worn with +self-argument, he resolved to accept a part of the advantages that +were thrust upon him. Why not all? What sense had he shown in his +obstinacy? What honor had he served? Why should he desire to reserve a +part of a former self? Fortune had not favored his birth, but accident +had thrown him in the way to be rich and therefore powerful. Accident! +What could be more of an accident than life itself? Then came the last +sting. The woman whom he loved, should she become his wife, would +never know her name; his children—but how vain and foolish was such a +questioning. Was his name worth preserving? Should he not rejoice in +the thought that he had thrown it off? He stopped on a corner and +stood in an old doorway, where he had blacked shoes. "George +Witherspoon is right, and I have been a fool," he said. "Nature +despises the weak. I will be rich—I am rich."</p> + +<p>There was no half-heartedness now. His manner changed; there was +arrogance in his step. Rich—powerful! The world had been his enemy +and he had blacked its shoes. Now it should be his servant, and with a +lordly contempt he would tip it for its services.</p> + +<p>He turned into a restaurant, and in a masterful and overbearing way +ordered his dinner. He looked at a man and mused: "He puts on airs, +the fool! I could buy him."</p> + +<p>Several men who had been sitting at a table got up to go out. One of +them pointed at a ragged fellow who, some distance back, was down on +his knees scrubbing the floor. "Zeb, see that man?"</p> + +<p>"What man?"</p> + +<p>"The one scrubbing the floor."</p> + +<p>"That isn't a man—it's a thing. What of it?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, only he used to be one of the brightest newspaper writers in +this city."</p> + +<p>Henry looked up.</p> + +<p>"Yes—used to write some great stuff, they say."</p> + +<p>"What's his name?"</p> + +<p>"Henry DeGolyer."</p> + +<p>Henry sprang to his feet. He put out his hands, for the room began to +swim round. He looked toward the door, but the men were gone. A waiter +ran to him and caught him by the arm. "Sit down here, sir."</p> + +<p>"No; get away."</p> + +<p>He steadied himself against the wall. The ragged man looked up, moved +his bucket of water, dipped his mop-rag into it and went on with his +work. Henry took a stop forward, and then felt for the wall again. A +death-like paleness had overspread his face, and he appeared vainly to +be trying to shut his staring and expressionless eyes. The waiter took +hold of his arm again.</p> + +<p>"Never mind. I'm all right."</p> + +<p>There were no customers in the room. The scrub-man came nearer. +Shudder after shudder, seeming to come in waves, passed over Henry, +but suddenly he became calm, and slowly he walked toward the rear end +of the room. The scrub-man moved forward and was at Henry's feet. He +reached down and took hold of the man's arm—took the rag out of his +hand. The man looked up. There could be no mistake. He was Henry +Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know me?" DeGolyer asked.</p> + +<p>The man snatched the rag and began again to scrub the floor.</p> + +<p>DeGolyer took hold of his arm. "Get up," he commanded, and the man +obeyed as if frightened.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know me?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Don't you remember Hank?"</p> + +<p>"I'm Hank," the man answered.</p> + +<p>"No," said DeGolyer, with a sob, "you are Henry, and I am Hank."</p> + +<p>"No, Henry's dead—I'm Hank." He dropped on his knees again and began +to scrub the floor.</p> + +<p>Just then the proprietor came in. "What's the trouble?" he asked. +"Why, mister, don't pay any attention to that poor fellow. There's no +harm in him."</p> + +<p>"No one knows that better than I," DeGolyer answered. "How long has he +been here—where did he come from?"</p> + +<p>"He came off a ship. The cap'n said that he couldn't use him and asked +me to take him. Been here about five months, I think. They say he used +to amount to something, but he's gone up here," he added, tapping his +head.</p> + +<p>"What's the captain's name—where can I find him?"</p> + +<p>"His ship's in now, I think. Go down to the levee and ask for the +cap'n of the Creole."</p> + +<p>"I will, but first let me tell you that I have come for this man. I +know his father. I'll get back as soon as I can."</p> + +<p>"All right. And if you can do anything for this poor fellow you are +welcome to, for he's not much use round here."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer snatched his hat and rushed out into the street. Not a hack +was in sight; he could not wait for a car, and he hastened toward the +river. He began to run, and a boy cried: "Sick him, Tige." He stopped +suddenly and put his hand to his head. "Have I lost my mind?" he asked +himself.</p> + +<p>"Well, here we are again," some one said. DeGolyer looked round and +recognized the railroad man who had charge of the excursion.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad I met you," DeGolyer replied. "It saves hunting you up."</p> + +<p>"Why, what's the matter? Are you sick?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm all right, but something has occurred that compels me to +return at once to Chicago."</p> + +<p>"Nothing serious, I hope."</p> + +<p>"No, but it demands my immediate return. I'm sorry, but it can't be +helped. Good-by."</p> + +<p>Again he started toward the river. He upset an old woman's basket of +fruit. She cried out at him, and be saw that she could scarcely totter +after the rolling oranges. He halted and picked them up for her. She +mumbled something; she appeared to be a hundred years old. As he was +putting the fruit into the basket, she struck a note in her mumbling +that caused him to look her full in the face. He dropped the oranges +and sprang back. She was the hag that had taken him from the +Foundlings' Home. He hurried onward. "Great God!" he inwardly cried, +"I am covered with the slime of the past."</p> + +<p>Without difficulty he found the captain of the Creole. "I don't know +very much about the poor fellow," he said. "I run across him nearly +six months ago fit a little place called Dura, on the coast of Costa +Rica. He was working about a sort of hotel, scrubbing and taking care +of the horses; and I guess I shouldn't have paid any attention to him +if I hadn't heard somebody say that he was an American; and it struck +me as rather out of place that an American should be scrubbing round +for those fellows, and I began to inquire about him. The landlord said +that he was brought there sick, a good while ago, and was left for +dead, but just as they were about to bury him he came to, and got up +again after a few weeks. A priest told me that his name was Henry +DeGolyer, and I said that it didn't make any difference what his name +might be, I was going to take him back to the United States, so that +if he had to clean out stables and scrub he might do it for white +folks at least; for I am a down-east Yankee, and I haven't any too +much respect for those fellows. Well, I brought him to New Orleans. I +couldn't do much for him, being a poor man myself, but I got him a +place in a restaurant, where he could get enough to eat, anyhow. I've +since heard that he used to be a newspaper man, but this was disputed. +Some people said that the newspaper DeGolyer was a black-haired +fellow. But that didn't make any difference—I did the best I could."</p> + +<p>"And you shall he more than paid for your trouble," said DeGolyer.</p> + +<p>"Well, we won't argue about that. If you've got any money to spare +you'd better give it to him."</p> + +<p>"What is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Atkins—just Cap'n Atkins."</p> + +<p>"Where do you get your mail?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't get any to speak of. A letter sent in care of the +wharfmaster will reach me all right."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer got into a hack and was rapidly driven to the restaurant. +Young Witherspoon had completed his work and was in the kitchen, +sitting on a box with a dirty-looking bundle lying beside him.</p> + +<p>"Come, Henry," DeGolyer said, taking his arm.</p> + +<p>"No; not Henry—Hank. Henry's dead."</p> + +<p>"Come, my boy."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon looked up, and closing his eyes, pressed the tips of his +fingers against them.</p> + +<p>"My boy."</p> + +<p>"He got up and turned to go with DeGolyer, who held his arm, but +perceiving that he had left his bundle, pulled back and made an effort +to reach it.</p> + +<p>"No, we don't want that," said DeGolyer.</p> + +<p>"Yes, clothes."</p> + +<p>"No, we'll get better clothes. Come on."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer took him to a Turkish bath, to a barbershop, and then to a +clothing store. It was now evening and nearly time to take the train +for Chicago. They drove to the hotel and then to the railway station.</p> + +<p>The homeward journey was begun, and the wheels kept on repeating: "A +father and a mother and a sister, too." DeGolyer did not permit +himself to think. His mind had a thousand quickenings, but he killed +them. Young Witherspoon looked in awe at the luxury of the +sleeping-car; he gazed at the floor as if he wondered how it could be +scrubbed. At first he refused to sit on the showy plush, and even +after DeGolyer's soothing and affectionate words had relieved his fear +of giving offense, he jumped to his feet when the porter came through +the car, and in a trembling fright begged his companion to protect +him against the anger of the head waiter.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, my dear boy. He is not a head waiter—he is your servant."</p> + +<p>"Is he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and must wait on you."</p> + +<p>At this he doubtfully shook his head, and he continued to watch the +porter until assured that he was not offended, and then timidly +offered to shake hands with him.</p> + +<p>When bed-time came young Witherspoon refused to take off his clothes. +He was afraid that some one might steal them, and no argument served +to reassure him; and even after he had lain down, with his clothes on, +he took off a red neck-tie which he had insisted upon wearing, and for +greater security put it into his pocket. DeGolyer lay beside him, and +for a time Witherspoon was quiet, but suddenly he rose up and began to +mutter.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Henry?"</p> + +<p>"Not Henry—Hank. Henry's dead."</p> + +<p>"Well, what's the matter, Hank?"</p> + +<p>"Want my hat."</p> + +<p>"It's up there. We'll get it in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Want it now."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer got his hat for him, and he lay with it on his breast. How +dragging a night it was! Would the train never run from under the +darkness out into the light of day? And sometimes, when the train +stopped, DeGolyer fancied that it had run ahead of night and +perversely was waiting for the darkness to catch up. The end was +coming, and what an end it might be!</p> + +<p>The day was dark and rainy; the landscape was a flat dreariness. A +buzzard flapped his heavy wings and flew from a dead tree; a yelping +dog ran after the train; a horse, turned out to die, stumbled along a +stumpy road.</p> + +<p>It was evening when the train reached Chicago. DeGolyer and young +Witherspoon took a cab and were driven to a hospital. The case was +explained to the physician in charge. He said that the mental trouble +might not be due to any permanent derangement of the brain; it was +evident that he had not been treated properly. The patient's nervous +system was badly shattered. The case was by no means hopeless. He +could not determine the length of time it might require to restore him +to physical health, which meant, he thought, a mental cure as well.</p> + +<p>"Three months?" DeGolyer asked.</p> + +<p>"That long, at least."</p> + +<p>"I will leave him with you, and I urge you not to stop short of the +highest medical skill that can be procured in either this country or +in Europe. As to who this young man is or may turn out to be, that +must be kept as a secret. I will call every day. Henry"—</p> + +<p>"Hank."</p> + +<p>"All right, Hank. Now, I'm going to leave you here, but I'll be back +soon."</p> + +<p>"No; they'll steal my clothes!" he cried, in alarm.</p> + +<p>"No, they won't; they'll give you more clothes. You stay here, and I +will bring you something when I come back."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer went to a hotel.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII" />CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<h3>A MOST PECULIAR FELLOW.</h3> + + +<p>Early the next morning George Witherspoon was pacing the sidewalk in +front of his house when DeGolyer came up. The merchant was startled.</p> + +<p>"Why, where did you come from!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"I thought it best to get back as soon as possible," DeGolyer +answered, shaking hands with him. "The truth is, I met a man who +caused me to change my plans. He wants to buy my paper, and so I came +back with him."</p> + +<p>"Good enough, my dear boy. We'll go down immediately after breakfast +and close with him one way or another. I am delighted, I assure you. +Why, I missed you every minute of the time. See how I have already +begun to rely on you? I haven't said a word to your mother about that +angel. Hah, you'd burn down the Colossus, would you? Why, bless my +life, you rascal."</p> + +<p>"Who is that?" Ellen cried as they entered the hall; and with an airy, +early-morning grace she came running down the stairway. "Oh, nobody +can place any confidence in what you say," she declared, kissing him. +"Goodness alive, man, you look as if you hadn't slept a wink since you +left home." Just then Mrs. Witherspoon came out of the dining-room. +"Mother," Ellen called, "here's one of your mother's people, and he's +darker than ever."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witherspoon fondly kissed him before she gave Ellen the usual +look of gentle reproach. "You must have known how much we missed you, +my son, and that is the reason you came home. And you're just in time +for breakfast. Ellen, <i>will</i> you please get out of the way? And what +do you mean by saying that he's darker than ever?" Here she gave +DeGolyer an anxious look. "But you are not ill, are you, my son?"</p> + +<p>"Ill!" Witherspoon repeated, with resentment. "Of course he's not ill. +What do you mean by ill? Do you expect a man to travel a thousand +miles and then look like a rose? Is breakfast ready? Well, come then. +We've got business to attend to."</p> + +<p>"Now, as to this man who wants to buy my paper," said DeGolyer, when +they were seated at the table, "let me tell you that he is a most +peculiar fellow, and if he finds that I am anxious to sell, he'll back +out. Therefore I don't think you'd better see him, father."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, my dear boy; I can make him buy in three minutes."</p> + +<p>"That may be, but you might scare him off in one minute. He's an +old-maidish sort of fellow, and is easily frightened. You'd better let +me work him."</p> + +<p>"All right, but don't haggle. There are transactions in which men are +bettered by being beaten, and this is one of them."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it isn't well to let eagerness rush you into a folly."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but in this affair folly was at the other end—at the buying."</p> + +<p>"Then, with a wise sale, let us correct that folly."</p> + +<p>"All right, but without haggling. When are you to meet this man +again?"</p> + +<p>"At noon."</p> + +<p>"And when shall I see you?"</p> + +<p>"Immediately after the deal is closed."</p> + +<p>On DeGolyer's part the day was spent in the spinning of the threads of +excuses. He might explain a week's delay, but how was he to account +for a three months' put-off? And if at the end of that time young +Witherspoon's case should be pronounced hopeless what course was then +to be taken?</p> + +<p>He did not see George Witherspoon again until dinner-time. The +merchant met him with a quick inquiry. "We will discuss it in the +library, father," DeGolyer answered.</p> + +<p>"But can't you tell me now whether or not it has come out all right?"</p> + +<p>"I think it's all right, but you may not. But let as wait until after +dinner."</p> + +<p>When they went into the library Witherspoon hastily lighted his cigar, +and sat down in his leather-covered chair. "Well, how did it come +out?" he asked.</p> + +<p>DeGolyer did not sit down. Evidently he expected to remain in the room +but a short time.</p> + +<p>"I told you that he was a very peculiar fellow."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know that. What did you do with him?"</p> + +<p>"Well, the deal isn't closed yet. He wants to go into the office and +work three months before he decides."</p> + +<p>"Tell him to go to the devil!" Witherspoon exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"No, I can't do that."</p> + +<p>"Why can't you? Do you belong to him? Have you a consideration for +everybody but me?"</p> + +<p>"I very nearly belong to him."</p> + +<p>"You very nearly belong to him!" Witherspoon cried. "What in the name +of God do you mean? Have you lost your senses?"</p> + +<p>"My senses are all right, but my situation is peculiar."</p> + +<p>"I should think so. Henry, I don't want to fly all to pieces. Lately, +and with your help, I have pulled myself strongly together, and now I +beg of you not to pull me apart."</p> + +<p>"Father, some time ago you said that we have more control over +ourselves than we exercise; and now I ask you to exert a little of +that control. The sense of obligation has always been strong in me, +and I feel that it is largely developed in you. I said that I very +nearly belonged to this man, and I will tell you why; and don't be +impatient, but listen to me for a few minutes. A number of years ago +uncle left me in New Orleans and went on one of his trips to South +America. He had not been gone long when yellow fever broke out. It was +unusually fatal, and the city, though long accustomed to the disease, +was panic-stricken. I was one of the early victims. Every member of +the family I boarded with died within a week, and I was left in the +house alone. This man, this peculiar fellow, Nat Parker, found me, +took charge of me and did not leave me until I was out of danger. Of +course, there was no way to reward him—you can merely stammer your +gratitude to the man who has saved your life. He told me that the time +might come when I could do him a good turn. Well, I met him the other +day in New Orleans, and I incidentally spoke of my intention to sell +my paper. He said that he would buy it. I told him that I would make +him a present of it, but he resentfully replied that he was not a +beggar. I came back with him to Chicago, and afraid that any +interference might offend him, I told you that you should have +nothing to do with the transaction. He has an ambition to become known +as a newspaper man, and he foolishly believes that I am a great +journalist. So he declares that for three months he must serve under +me. What could I say? Could I tell him that I would dispose of the +paper to some one else? I was compelled to accept his terms. I +insisted that he should live with us during the time, but he objected. +He swore that he must not be introduced to any of my people—to be +petted like a dog that has saved a child's life. And there's the +situation."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon's cigar had fallen to the floor. Some time elapsed before +he spoke, and when he did speak there was an unnatural softness in his +voice. "Strange story," he said. "No wonder you are peculiar when you +have been thrown among such peculiar people. If your friend were a +sane man, we could deal with him in a sensible manner, but as he is +not we must let him have his way. But suppose that at the end of three +months he is tired of the paper?"</p> + +<p>"I will sell it or give it away. But there'll be no trouble about +that. It's a valuable piece of property, and I will swear to you that +if at the end of that time Henry Witherspoon does not go into the +Colossus with his father, it will be the father who keeps him out. Now +promise me that you won't worry."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon got up and took Henry's hand. "You have done the best you +could, my son. It is peculiar and unbusinesslike, but we can't help +that."</p> + +<p>"Will you explain to mother?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but the more I look at it the stranger it seems. I don't know, +however, that it is so strange after all. He is simply a chivalrous +crank of the South, and we must humor him. But I'll be glad when all +this nonsense is over."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer sat in his room, smoking his pipe. He looked at his +reflection in the mirror, and said: "Oh, what a liar you are! But your +day for truth is coming."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII" />CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE TIME WAS DRAWING NEAR.</h3> + + +<p>One morning, when DeGolyer called at the hospital, young Witherspoon +said to him: "You are Hank, and I'm Henry." And this was the first +indication that his mind was regaining its health.</p> + +<p>Every day George Witherspoon would ask: "Well, how's your peculiar +friend getting along?" And one evening, when he made this inquiry, +DeGolyer answered: "He is so much pleased that he doesn't think it +will take him quite three months to decide."</p> + +<p>"Good enough, but why doesn't he decide now?"</p> + +<p>"Because it would hardly be in keeping with his peculiar methods. I +haven't questioned him, but occasionally he drops a hint that leads me +to believe that he's satisfied."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer was once tempted to tell Richmond and McGlenn that he was +feeling his way through a part that had been put upon him, but with +this impulse came a restraining thought—the play was not yet done. +They were at luncheon, and McGlenn had declared that DeGolyer was +sometimes strangely inconsistent.</p> + +<p>"I admit that I am, John, and with an explanation I could make you +stare at me."</p> + +<p>"Then let us have the explanation. Man was made to stare as well as to +mourn."</p> + +<p>"No, not now; but it will come one of these days, though perhaps not +directly from me."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you have killed a mysterious lion and made a riddle; but where +is the honey you found in the carcass? Give us the explanation."</p> + +<p>"Not now. But one of these bleak Chicago days you and Richmond will +sit in the club, watch the whirling snow and discuss me, and you both +will say that you always thought there was something strange about +me."</p> + +<p>"And we do," McGlenn replied. "Here's a millionaire's son, and he has +chosen toil instead of ease. Isn't that an anomaly, and isn't such an +anomaly a strange thing? But will the outcome of that vague something +cause us to hold you at a cooler length from us—will that 'I told you +so' result in your banishment? Shall we send a Roger Williams over the +hills?"</p> + +<p>"John, what are you trying to get at?" Richmond asked.</p> + +<p>McGlenn looked serenely at him. "Have you devoured your usual quota of +pickles? If so, writhe in your misery until I have dined."</p> + +<p>"I writhe, not with what I have eaten, but at what I see. Is there a +more distressing sight than an epicure—or a gourmand, rather—with a +ragged purse?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; a stuffer, a glutton without a purse."</p> + +<p>Richmond laughed. "Hunger may force a man to apparent gluttony," he +said, "and a sandbagger may have taken his purse; and all on his part +is honesty. But there is pretense—which I hold is not honest—in an +effort to be an epicure."</p> + +<p>"Ah, which you hold is not honest. A most rare but truthful avowal, +since nothing you hold is honest."</p> + +<p>"In my willingness to help the weak," Richmond replied, "I have held +your overcoat while you put it on."</p> + +<p>"And it was not an honest covering until you took your hands off."</p> + +<p>"Neither did it cover honesty until some other man put it on by +mistake," Richmond rejoined.</p> + +<p>DeGolyer went to his office, and Richmond and McGlenn, wrangling as +they walked along, betook themselves to the Press Club. "I tell you," +said McGlenn, as they were going up the stairs, "that he needs our +sympathy. He has suffered, but having suffered, he is great."</p> + +<p>Thus the weeks were sprinkled with light incidents, and thus the days +dripped into the past—and a designated future was drawing near.</p> + +<p>"Well," Witherspoon remarked one Sunday morning, "the time set by your +insane friend will soon be up."</p> + +<p>"Yes, within a week," DeGolyer replied.</p> + +<p>"I should think that he is more in need of apartments in an asylum +than of a newspaper; but if he thinks he knows his business, all +right; we have nothing to say. What has he agreed to give for the +paper?"</p> + +<p>"No price has been fixed, but there'll be no trouble about that."</p> + +<p>"I hope not."</p> + +<p>"Did you understand mother and Ellen to say they were going out +shopping to-morrow afternoon?" DeGolyer asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but what of it?"</p> + +<p>"There's this of it: If they decide to go, I want you to meet me here +at three o'clock."</p> + +<p>"Why can't you meet me at the store?"</p> + +<p>"Don't I tell you that my friend is peculiar?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's to meet him, eh? All right, I'll be here."</p> + +<p>His play was nearing the end. To-morrow he must snatch "the make-up" +off his face. He felt a sadness that was more than half a joy. He +should be free; he should be honest, and being honest, he could summon +that most sterling of all strength, a manly self-respect. He had +thought himself strong, but had found himself weak. The love of money, +which at first had seemed so gross, at last had conquered him. This +thought did not sting him now; it softened him, made him look with a +more forgiving eye upon tempted human nature. But was it money that +had tempted him to turn from a purpose so resolutely formed? Had not +Witherspoon's argument and Ellen's persuasion left him determined to +reserve one refuge for his mind—one closet wherein he could hang the +cast-off garment of real self? Then it was the appeal of that gentle +woman whom he called mother; it was not money. But after yielding to +the mother he had found himself without a prop, and at last he had +felt a contempt for a moderate income and had boasted to himself that +he could buy a man. And for this he reproached himself. How grim was +that something known as fate, how mockingly did it play with the +children of men, and in that mockery how cold a justice! But he should +be free, and that thought thrilled him.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon he went over to the North Side, and along a modest +street he walked, looking at the houses as if hunting for a number. He +went up a short flight of wooden steps and rang the bell of the second +flat. The hall door was open, and a moment later he saw Miss Drury at +the head of the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Why, is that you, Mr. Witherspoon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; may I come up?"</p> + +<p>"What a question! Of course you may, especially as I am as lonesome +as I can be."</p> + +<p>He was shown into a neat sitting-room, where a canary bird "fluttered" +his hanging cage up and down. A rose was pinned on one of the white +curtains. The room was warmed by a stove, and through the isinglass +the playful flame could be seen. She brought a "tidied" rocking-chair, +and smiling in her welcome, said that as this was his first visit, she +must make him comfortable. "Don't you see," she added, "that you +constantly make me forget that I am working for you?"</p> + +<p>"And don't you know," he answered, "that you are most pleasing when +you do forget it? But I am to infer that you wouldn't give me the +rocking-chair if you didn't forget that you were working for me?"</p> + +<p>"You must infer nothing," she said. "But am I most pleasing when I +forget? Then I will not remember again. It is a woman's duty to be +pleasing; and her advantage, too, for when she ceases to please she +loses many of her privileges."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer went to the window, took the rose, brought it to her and +said: "Put this in your hair."</p> + +<p>She looked up as she took the rose; their eyes met and for a moment +they lived in the promise of a delirious bliss. She looked down as she +was putting the flower in her hair. He spoke an idle word that meant +more than old Wisdom's speech, and she answered with a laugh that was +nearly a sob. He thirsted to take her in his arms, to tell her of his +love, but his time was not yet come—he was still Henry Witherspoon.</p> + +<p>"How have you spent the day?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I'm thinking of to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"And will to-morrow be so important?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the most important day of my life."</p> + +<p>"Oh, tell me about it."</p> + +<p>"I will to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose I shall have to wait, but I wish you would tell me +just a little bit of it."</p> + +<p>"To tell a little would be to tell all. The story is not yet +complete."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is it a story? And is it one that you are writing?"</p> + +<p>"No, one that I am living. It is a strange tale."</p> + +<p>"I know it must be interesting, but what has to-morrow to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"It will be completed then."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you; I never did. I've often thought you the +saddest man I have ever seen, and I've wondered why. You ought not to +be sad—fortune is surely a friend of yours. You live in a grand +house, and your father is a power in this great community. All the +advantages of this life are within your reach; and if you can find +cause to be sad, what must be the condition of people who have to +struggle in order to live!"</p> + +<p>"The summing-up of what you say means that I ought to be thankful."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you were stolen, it is true, but you were restored, and +therefore, by contrast and out of gratitude, you should be happier +than if you had never been taken away."</p> + +<p>"All that is true so far as it <i>is</i> true," he replied. "And let me say +that I'm not so sad as you suppose. Do you care if I smoke here?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all."</p> + +<p>He lighted a cigar and sat smoking in silence. A boy shouted in the +hall, a dog barked, and a cat sprang up from a doze under a table, +looked toward the door, gave himself a humping stretch, and then lay +down again.</p> + +<p>Whenever DeGolyer looked at the girl, a new expression, the rosy tinge +of a strange confusion, flew to her countenance. His talk evoked a +self-possessed reply, but over his silence an embarrassment was +brooding. She seemed to be in fear of something that sweetly she +expected.</p> + +<p>"I may not be at the office to-morrow until evening, but will you wait +for me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And when I come, I'll be myself."</p> + +<p>"Be yourself? Who are you now?"</p> + +<p>"Another man."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then I shall be glad to see you."</p> + +<p>"I don't know as to that. You may have strong objections to my real +self."</p> + +<p>"You are <i>so</i> mysterious."</p> + +<p>"To-day, yes; to-morrow, no."</p> + +<p>He was leaning back, blowing rings of smoke, and was looking up at +them.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I shouldn't say it," she said, "but during the last three +months you have appeared stranger than ever."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he drawlingly replied, "for during the last three months it was +natural that I should be stranger than ever."</p> + +<p>"I do wish I knew what you mean."</p> + +<p>"And when you have been told you may wish you had never known."</p> + +<p>"Is it so bad as that?"</p> + +<p>"Worse."</p> + +<p>"Worse than what?"</p> + +<p>"Than anything you imagine."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are simply trying to tease me, Mr. Witherspoon."</p> + +<p>"Do you think so? Then we'll say no more about it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but that's worse than ever. Well, I don't care; I can wait."</p> + +<p>They talked on subjects in which neither of them was interested, but +sympathy was in their voices. Gradually—yes, now it seemed for +months—they had been floating toward that fern-covered island in the +river of life where a thoughtless word comes back with an echo of +love; where the tongue may be silly, but where the eye holds a +redeemed soul, returned from God to gaze upon the only remembered +rapture of this earth.</p> + +<p>She went with him to the head of the stairway. "Don't leave the office +before I come," he called, looking back at her.</p> + +<p>"You know I won't," she answered.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV" />CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<h3>TOLD HIM A STORY.</h3> + + +<p>At the appointed time, the next day, George Witherspoon was waiting in +his library. DeGolyer came in a cab, and when he got out, he told the +driver to wait.</p> + +<p>"Where is your friend?" Witherspoon asked as DeGolyer entered the +room.</p> + +<p>"He'll be here within a few minutes."</p> + +<p>"Confound him, I'm getting sick of his peculiarities."</p> + +<p>The merchant sat down; DeGolyer stood on the hearth-rug. The time was +come, and he had been strong, but now a shiver crept over him.</p> + +<p>"My friend told me a singular story to-day."</p> + +<p>"I don't doubt it; and if his stories are as singular as he is, they +must he marvelous."</p> + +<p>"This story <i>is</i> marvelous, and I think it would interest you. I will +give it to you briefly. There were two young men in a foreign +country"—</p> + +<p>"I wish he was in a foreign country. I can't wait here all day."</p> + +<p>"He'll be here soon. These two friends were on their way to the sea +coast, and here's where it will strike you. One of them had been +stolen when he was a child, and was now going back to his parents. But +before they reached the coast, the rich man's son—as we'll call the +one who had been stolen—was stricken with a fever. No ship was in +port, and his friend took him to a hotel and got a doctor for him."</p> + +<p>"Wish you'd hand me a match," said Witherspoon. "My cigar's out. Thank +you."</p> + +<p>"Got a doctor for him, but he grew worse. Sometimes he was delirious, +but at times his mind was strangely clear; and once, when he was +rational, he told his friend that he was going to die. He didn't +appear to care very much so far as it concerned himself, but the +thought of the grief that his death would cause his parents seemed to +lie as a cold weight upon his mind. And it was then that he made a +most peculiar request. He compelled his friend to promise to take his +name; to go to his home; to be a son to his father and mother. His +friend begged, but had to yield. Well, the rich man's son died, we'll +suppose, and the poor fellow took his name on the spot. He had to +leave hurriedly, for a father and a mother and a sister were waiting +in a distant home. A ship that had just come was ready to sail, and a +month might pass before the landing of another vessel. He went to +these people as their son"—</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Witherspoon, "and fell in love with the sister, and +then had to tell his story."</p> + +<p>"No, he didn't. He loved the girl, but only as a brother should. He +was not wholly acceptable to his father, but"—</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's all very well," said Witherspoon, "but what proof had he?"</p> + +<p>DeGolyer met Witherspoon's careless look and held it with a firm gaze. +And slowly raising his hand, he said: "He held up a gold chain."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon sprang to his feet and exclaimed: "My God, he's crazy!"</p> + +<p>"Wait!"</p> + +<p>The merchant had turned toward the door. He halted and looked back.</p> + +<p>"George Witherspoon"—</p> + +<p>"I thought so—crazy. Merciful God, he's mad!"</p> + +<p>"Will you listen to me for a moment—just a moment—and I will prove +to you that I'm not crazy. I am not your son—my name is Henry +DeGolyer. Wait, I tell you!" Witherspoon had staggered against the +door-case. "I am not your son, but your son is not dead. I took his +place; I thought it a promise made to a dying man."</p> + +<p>"What!" he whispered. His voice was gone. "You—you"—</p> + +<p>DeGolyer ran to him and eased him into his chair. "Your son is here, +and the man who has brought nothing but ill luck will leave you. I +tried to soften this, but couldn't," Witherspoon's head shook as he +looked up at him. "Wait a moment, and I will call him. No, don't get +up."</p> + +<p>DeGolyer hastened to the front door, and standing on the steps, he +called: "Henry! oh, Henry!"</p> + +<p>"All right, Hank."</p> + +<p>Young Witherspoon got out of the cab and came up the steps.</p> + +<p>"He is waiting for you, Henry." And speaking to the footman, DeGolyer +added: "There's nothing the matter. Send those girls about their +business."</p> + +<p>Young Witherspoon followed DeGolyer into the library. The merchant was +standing with his shaky hands on the back of a chair. He stepped +forward and tried to speak, but failed.</p> + +<p>"I'm your son. Hank did as I told him. It's all right. I've had a +fever—he's going to fall, Hank!"</p> + +<p>They eased him down into his leather-covered chair.</p> + +<p>"I see it now," the old man muttered. "Yes, I can see it. Come here."</p> + +<p>The young man leaned over and put his arms about his father's neck. "I +will go into the store with you when I get just a little stronger—I +will do anything you want me to. I've had an awful time—awful—but +it's all right now. Hank found me in New Orleans, scrubbing a floor; +but it's all right now."</p> + +<p>"I'll get him some brandy," said DeGolyer.</p> + +<p>"No," Witherspoon objected, "I'll be myself in a minute. Never was so +shocked in my life. Who ever heard of such a thing? Of course you +couldn't soften it. Let me look at you, my son. How do I know what to +believe? No, there's no mistake now."</p> + +<p>He got up, and holding the young man's hands, stood looking at him. +"Who's that?" he asked.</p> + +<p>They heard voices. Mrs. Witherspoon and Ellen were coming down the +hall. DeGolyer stepped hastily to the door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what are you doing here?" Ellen cried. "I saw somebody—Miss +Miller. She didn't say so, but I know that she wants me to kiss you +for her, and I will."</p> + +<p>"Ellen!" Witherspoon exclaimed, and just then she saw that a stranger +was present.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," she said.</p> + +<p>DeGolyer took her by the hand, and as Mrs. Witherspoon came up he held +out his other hand to her. He led them both to the threshold of the +library, gently drew them into the room, and quickly stepping out, +closed the door and hastened upstairs.</p> + +<p>As he entered his room he thought that he heard a cry, and he +listened, but naught save a throbbing silence came from below. He sat +down, put his arms on the table, and his head lay an aching weight +upon his arms. After a time he got up, and taking his traveling-bag +from a closet, began to pack it. There was his old pipe, still with a +ribbon tied about the stem. He waited a long time and then went +down-stairs. The library door was closed, and gently he rapped upon +it. Witherspoon's voice bade him enter.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witherspoon was sitting on a sofa; young Henry was on his knees, +and his head was in her lap. Witherspoon and Ellen were standing near.</p> + +<p>"He is like my father's people," the mother said, fondly stroking his +hair. "All the Springers were light." She looked at DeGolyer, and her +eyes were soft, but for him they no longer held the glow of a mother's +love. DeGolyer put down his bag near the door.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Witherspoon, I hardly know what to say. I came to this house as a +lie, but I shall leave it as a truth. I"—</p> + +<p>"Hank!" young Henry cried, getting up, "you ain't going away. You are +going to stay here."</p> + +<p>He ran to DeGolyer, seized his hand, and leading him to Ellen, said: +"I have caught you a prince. Take him." And DeGolyer, smiling sadly, +replied, "I love her as a brother." She held out her hands to him. "I +could never think of you as anything else," she said.</p> + +<p>"But you must not leave us," Mrs. Witherspoon declared, coming +forward.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my mission here is ended."</p> + +<p>"You shan't go, Hank," young Witherspoon cried.</p> + +<p>"Henry," said DeGolyer, "I did as you requested. Now it is your time +to obey. Keep quiet!" He stood erect; he had the bearing of a master. +He turned to Witherspoon. "Here is a check for the amount of money you +advanced me, with interest added."</p> + +<p>Witherspoon stepped back. "I refuse to take it," he said.</p> + +<p>"But you <i>shall</i> take it. I have sold the paper at a profit, and it +has made money almost from the first. Do as I tell you. Take this +check."</p> + +<p>The merchant took the check, and it shook in his hand. DeGolyer now +addressed Mrs. Witherspoon. "You have indeed been a mother to me. No +gentler being ever lived, and till the day of my death I shall +remember you with affection."</p> + +<p>"Oh, this is all so strange!" she cried, weeping.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but everything is strange, when we come to think of it. God +bless you. Sister,"—Ellen gave him her hands,—"good-by."</p> + +<p>He kissed the girl, and then kissed Mrs. Witherspoon. Henry came +toward him, but DeGolyer stopped him with a wave of his hand. "My dear +boy, I'm not going out of the world. No, you mustn't grab hold of me. +Stand where you are. You shall hear from me. Mr. Witherspoon, this +time you must get up a statement without my help—I mean for the +newspapers. I know that I have caused you a great deal of worry, but +it is a pretty hard matter to live a lie even when it is imposed as a +duty. By the way, a poor sea captain, Atkins is his name, brought +Henry from Dura. I wish you would send him a check, care Wharfmaster, +New Orleans."</p> + +<p>"I will."</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Mr. Witherspoon."</p> + +<p>"Henry DeGolyer," said Witherspoon, grasping his hand, "you are the +most honorable man I ever met."</p> + +<p>"There, now!" DeGolyer cried, holding up his hand—they all were +coming toward him—"do as I tell you and remain where you are."</p> + +<p>He caught up his bag and hastened out. "To the <i>Star</i> office," he said +to the cabman.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV" />CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3> + + +<p>"I'd began to think that you'd forgotten to come," said Miss Drury, as +DeGolyer entered the room. She was sitting at her desk, and hits of +torn paper were scattered about her.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry that I kept you waiting so long," he replied. He did not +sit down, but stood near her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it hasn't been so <i>very</i> long," she rejoined. "Why, how you have +changed since yesterday," she added, looking at him.</p> + +<p>"For the worse?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"For the better; you look more like the heir to a great fortune."</p> + +<p>He smiled. "I am an heir to freedom, and that is the greatest of +fortune."</p> + +<p>"Oh, now you are trying to mystify me again; and you said that to-day +you would make everything clear."</p> + +<p>"And I shall. Laura"—she looked up quickly—he repeated, "this is my +last day in this office. I have sold the paper, and the new owner will +take charge to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," she said, and then added: "But on my part that is +selfishness. Of course you know what is best for yourself."</p> + +<p>"I told you yesterday that my story would be completed to-day. It is, +and I will tell it."</p> + +<p>The latest edition had left the press, and there was scarcely a sound +in the building. The sharp cry of the newsboy came from the street.</p> + +<p>In telling her his story be did not begin with his early life, but +with the time when first he met young Witherspoon. It was a swift +recital; and he sought not to surprise her; he strove to tone down her +amazement.</p> + +<p>"And to-day I took his son to him. I saw the quick transfer of a +mother's love and of a father's interest—I saw a girl half-frightened +at the thought that upon a stranger she had bestowed the intimacies of +a sister's affection. I had made so strong an effort to be honorable +with myself, at least; to persuade myself that I was fulfilling an +honest mission, but had failed, for at last I had fallen to the level +of an ordinary hypocrite; I had found myself to be a purse-proud fool. +When I went into that restaurant my sympathies were dead, and when +that man pointed at the poor menial and said that his name was Henry +DeGolyer"—</p> + +<p>"No, no," she said, hiding her face, "your sympathies were not dead. +You—you were a hero."</p> + +<p>"I was simply a frozen-blooded fool," he replied. "And now I must tell +you something, but I know that it will make you despise me. My father +was a beast—he broke my mother's heart. The first thing I remember, +her dead arms were about me and a chill was upon me—I knew not the +meaning of death, but I was terrorized by its cold mystery. I cried +out, but no one came, and there in the dark, with that icy problem, I +remained alone"—</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't," she cried, and her hands seemed to flutter in her lap. +She got up, and putting her arms on the top of the desk, leaned her +head upon them.</p> + +<p>"How could I despise you for that?" she sobbed.</p> + +<p>"Not for that," he bitterly answered, "but for this I was taken to +the Foundlings' Home—was taken from that place to become the +disgraceful property of an Italian hag. She taught me, compelled me to +be a thief. Once she and some ruffians robbed a store and forced me to +help them. I ought to have died before that. She demanded that I +should steal something every day, and if I didn't she beat me. I got +up early one morning and robbed <i>her</i>. I took a handful of money out +of her drawer and ran away. But in the street a horror seized me, and +I threw the money in the gutter and fled from it. Don't you see that I +was born a thief? But I have striven so hard since then to be an +honorable man. But don't try not to pity, to despise me. You can't +help it. But, my God, I do love you!"</p> + +<p>She turned toward him with a glory in her eyes, and he caught her in +his arms.</p> + +<p>The old building was silent, and the shout of the newsboy was far +away.</p> + +<p>"Angel of sweet mercy," he said, still holding her in his arms, "let +us leave this struggling place. I know of an old house in Virginia—it +is near the sea, and rest lies in the woods about it. Let us live +there, not to dream idly, but to work, to be a devoted man and his +happy wife. Come."</p> + +<p>He took her hand, and they went out into the hall. The place was +deserted, the elevator was not running, and down the dark stairway he +led her—out into the light of the street.</p> + +<div class="center"><b>THE END.</b></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>The Standard Library of Mystery</h2> +<p> +<b>PRACTICAL ASTROLOGY</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN, the recognized leading authority on all</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">occult subjects. A plain, practical thorough work on this all absorbing topic.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over 100 illustrations.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cloth, special cover in colors, $1.00</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Paper, lithographed cover in five colors, .50</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>THE STUDY OF PALMISTRY</b><br /> +<b>For Professional Purposes and Advanced Pupils</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN. The highest, authority on Palmistry.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This excellent work was formerly issued in two volumes at $7.50. New</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">edition, two volumes bound in one superb imperial octavo volume.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Silk cloth, polished top, 1200 illustrations, $3.56</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>PRACTICAL PALMISTRY</b><br /> +<b>A new edition (65th thousand)</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN, author of that standard authority,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The Study of Palmistry</i>. Hand-reading made easy and popular.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cloth, 71 illustrations, among them 16 hands of</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">celebrities, unique cover, 75c</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>PRACTICAL HYPNOTISM.</b><br /> +<b>Theories. Experiments, Full Instructions</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN. From the works of the great medical</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">authorities on the subject. Clear, simple style that will interest</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">everybody. <i>How to produce and to stop Hypnotic Sleep.</i> How to</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">cure disease by its use.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cloth, special cover design in colors, 75c</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>HERRMANN THE GREAT; The Famous Magician's Tricks</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By H.J. BURLINGAME. Illustrated. Scores of explanations of the most</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">puzzling tricks of the greatest of all conjurers, never before</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">published. All apparatus described.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cloth, special cover design in colors, 75c</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>THE GREAT DREAM BOOK</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By MADAME CARLOTTA DE BARSY. With a <i>New List of Lucky Numbers</i>.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brilliant explanations of all possible dreams.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cloth, unique cover, extra half-tone, 75c</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>TWENTIETH CENTURY FORTUNE TELLER</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By MADAME CARLOTTA DE BARSY. Strange revelations through the <i>Magic</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Circle</i>. Every possible event foretold.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cloth, extra half-tone, unique cover, 75c</span><br /> +<br /> +<b>THE SPIRIT WORLD UNMASKED</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By H.R. EVANS. Tricks and frauds or clairvoyants, mind readers, slate</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">writers, etc., fearlessly exposed. Life and work of Madame Blavatsky.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Illustrated.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">12mo, extra cloth, burnished top, 75c</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +For sale everywhere, or sent postpaid on receipt of price, by<br /> +<b>LAIRD & LEE, 263-265 WABASH AVE., CHICAGO, U.S.A.</b><br /> +<br /> +</p> +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>GOOD READING</b><br /> +<br /> +<b>BOOKS IN THE FAMOUS "PASTIME" SERIES</b><br /> +Illustrated paper covers, <b>25c each</b><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>Opie Read's Works</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lithographed Covers.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Harkriders.<br /> +The Starbuck.<br /> +The Carpetbagger.<br /> +Old Ebenezer.<br /> +My young Master.<br /> +The Jucklins.<br /> +On the Suwanee River.<br /> +The Colossus.<br /> +A Tennessee Judge.<br /> +Emmett Bonlore.<br /> +A Kentucky Colonel.<br /> +Len Gansett.<br /> +The Tear in the Cup and Other Stories.<br /> +The Wives of the Prophet.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>Wm. H. Thomes' Tales of Adventures</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lithographed Covers.</span><br /> +<br /> +Daring Deeds.<br /> +The Ocean Rovers.<br /> +The Bushrangers.<br /> +Lewey and I.<br /> +On Land and Sea.<br /> +Running the Blockade.<br /> +The Belle of Australia.<br /> +A Goldhunter's Adventures.<br /> +A Manila Romance.<br /> +A Slaver's Adventures.<br /> +A Whaleman's Adventures.<br /> +The Goldhunters in Europe.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>Lawrence L. Lynch's</b><br /> +<b>HIGH CLASS DETECTIVE STORIES</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Lithographed Covers.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Danger Line.<br /> +The Woman Who Dared.<br /> +High Stakes.<br /> +The Unseen Hand.<br /> +The Last Stroke.<br /> +The Lost Witness.<br /> +Shadowed by Three.<br /> +A Slender Clue.<br /> +Dangerous Ground.<br /> +Madeline Payne.<br /> +A Mountain Mystery.<br /> +The Diamond Coterie.<br /> +Romance of a Bomb Thrower.<br /> +Out of a Labyrinth.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>Max Nordau's Best Books</b><br /> +<br /> +Paris Sketches.<br /> +Paradoxes.<br /> +Conventional Lies of Our Civilization.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>Dr. N.T. Oliver's Novels</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lithographed Covers.</span><br /> +<br /> +An Unconscious Crime.<br /> +The Fateful Hand.<br /> +A Woman of Nerve.<br /> +A Desperate Deed.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>Miscellaneous</b><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lithographed Covers.</span><br /> +Practical Hypnotism, St. Germain<br /> +Black Rock, Ralph Conner<br /> +Fogg's Ferry, C.E. Callahan<br /> +Michael Carmichael, Miles Sandys<br /> +Elizabeth and Her German Garden.<br /> +Wed by Mighty Waves, Sue Greenleaf<br /> +Samantha at Saratoga. Illustrated by F. Opper, Josiah Allen's Wite<br /> +Tabernacle Talks, Geo. F. Hall<br /> +The Great Dream Book with Lucky Numbers.<br /> +20th Century Fortune-Teller. Illust'd.<br /> +Madame Bovary, Flaubert<br /> +A.D. 2000, A.M. Fuller<br /> +Camille, Dumas<br /> +The Lady With the Pearl Necklace, Dumas<br /> +<br /> +Rescued from Fiery Death—Iroquois Theater Romance, Wesley A. Stanger<br /> +Cousin Betty, Balzac<br /> +Crime and Punishment, Dostoieffsky<br /> +Herrmann the Great. The Famous Magicians Tricks. Illustrated, Burlingame<br /> +Her Sisters Rival, Albert Delpit<br /> +A Man of Honor, Feuillet<br /> +The Story of Three Girls, Fawcett<br /> +Sappho, Daudet<br /> +The Woman of Fire, Adolphe Belot<br /> +Sell Not Thyself, Winnifred Kent<br /> +Hulda: A Romance of the West, Mrs. Shuey<br /> +The American Monte Cristo, F.C. Long<br /> +Doctor Rameau, Georges Ohnet<br /> +The Mummer's Wife, George Moore<br /> +A Modern Lover, George Moore<br /> +Fettered by Fate, Emma F. Southworth<br /> +The Jolly Songster. Words and Music. Lover or Husband, Chas. de Bernard<br /> +Dr. Phillips, Frank Danby<br /> +The Lost Diamond, D.G. Adee<br /> +How Men Make Love and Get Married.<br /> +The Chouans, Honore de Balzac<br /> +Famous Romances of Voltaire, Voltaire<br /> +The Countess' Love, Prosper Merimee<br /> +Dr. Perdue, Stinson Jarvis<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +For sale everywhere, or sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by<br /> +<b>Laird & Lee, 263-265 Wabash Ave., Chicago</b><br /> +</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Colossus, by Opie Read + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COLOSSUS *** + +***** This file should be named 15073-h.htm or 15073-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/0/7/15073/ + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/15073-h/images/frontis.jpg b/15073-h/images/frontis.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..517f5eb --- /dev/null +++ b/15073-h/images/frontis.jpg diff --git a/15073.txt b/15073.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b089ce --- /dev/null +++ b/15073.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8896 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Colossus, by Opie Read + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Colossus + A Novel + +Author: Opie Read + +Release Date: February 15, 2005 [EBook #15073] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COLOSSUS *** + + + + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +THE COLOSSUS + + +A NOVEL +BY +OPIE READ + + +Author of "The Carpetbagger," "Old Ebenezer," "The Jucklins," "My +Young Master," "On The Suwanee River," "A Kentucky Colonel," "Emmett +Bonlore," "A Tennessee Judge," "The Wives of the Prophet," "Len +Gansett," "The Tear in the Cup and Other Stories". + + +CHICAGO +LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS +1893. + + +[Illustration] + + +CONTENTS. + + +Chapter. + + I. LOOKING BACK AT EARLY LIFE + II. A SLEEPY VILLAGE AND A FUSSY OLD MAN + III. ALL WAS DARKNESS + IV. A STRANGE REQUEST + V. DISSECTING A MOTIVE + VI. WAITING AT THE STATION + VII. A MOTHER'S AFFECTION + VIII. THE DOMAIN OF A GREAT MERCHANT + IX. THE INTERVIEWERS + X. ROMPED WITH THE GIRL + XI. ACKNOWLEDGED BY SOCIETY + XII. A DEMOCRACY + XIII. BUTTING AGAINST A WALL + XIV. A DIFFERENT HANDWRITING + XV. TOLD HIM HER STORY + XVI. AN AROUSER OF THE SLEEPY + XVII. AN OLD MAN WOULD INVEST + XVIII. THE INVESTMENT + XIX. ARRESTED EVERYWHERE + XX. CRIED A SENSATION + XXI. A HELPLESS OLD WOMAN + XXII. TO GO ON A VISIT + XXIII. HENRY'S INCONSISTENCY + XXIV. WORE A ROSE ON HIS COAT + XXV. IMPATIENTLY WAITING + XXVI. TOLD IT ALL + XXVII. POINTS OUT HER BROTHER'S DUTY +XXVIII. THE VERDICT + XXIX. A DAY OF REST + XXX. A MOTHER'S REQUEST + XXXI. A MOMENT OF ARROGANCE + XXXII. A MOST PECULIAR FELLOW +XXXIII. THE TIME WAS DRAWING NEAR + XXXIV. TOLD HIM A STORY + XXXV. CONCLUSION + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +LOOKING BACK AT EARLY LIFE. + + +When the slow years of youth were gone and the hastening time of +manhood had come, the first thing that Henry DeGolyer, looking back, +could call from a mysterious darkness into the dawn of memory was that +he awoke one night in the cold arms of his dead mother. That was in +New Orleans. The boy's father had aspired to put the face of man upon +lasting canvas, but appetite invited whisky to mix with his art, and +so upon dead walls he painted the trade-mark bull, and in front of +museums he exaggerated the distortion of the human freak. + +After the death of his mother, the boy was taken to the Foundlings' +Home, where he was scolded by women and occasionally knocked down by a +vagabond older than himself. Here he remembered to have seen his +father but once. It was a Sunday when he came, years after the gentle +creature, holding her child in her arms, had died at midnight. The +painter laughed and cried and begged an old woman for a drink of +brandy. He went away, and after an age had seemed to pass the matron +of the place took the boy on her lap and told him that his father was +dead, and then, putting him down, she added: "Run along, now, and be +good." + +The boy was taken by an old Italian woman. In after years he could not +determine the length of time that he had lived in her wretched home, +but with vivid brightness dwelled in his memory the morning when he +ran away and found a free if not an easy life in the newsboys' +lodging-house. He sold newspapers, he went to a night school, and as +he grew older he picked up "river items" for an afternoon newspaper. +His hope was that he might become a "professional journalist," as +certain young men termed themselves; and study, which in an +ill-lighted room, tuned to drowsiness by the buzzing of youthful +mumblers, might have been a chafing task to one who felt not the rowel +of a spurring ambition, was to him a pleasure full of thrilling +promises. To him the reporter stood at the high-water mark of +ambition's "freshet." But when years had passed and he had scrambled +to that place he looked down and saw that his height was not a dizzy +one. And instead of viewing a conquered province, he saw, falling from +above, the shadows of trials yet to be endured. He worked faithfully, +and at one time held the place of city editor, but a change in the +management of the paper not only reduced him to the ranks, but, as the +saying went, set him on the sidewalk. Then he wrote "specials." His +work was bright, original and strong, and was reproduced throughout +the country, but as it was not signed, the paper alone received the +credit. Year after year he lived in this unsettled way--reading in the +public library, musing at his own fireside, catching glimpses of an +important work which the future seemed to hold, and waiting for the +outlines of that work to become more distinct; but the months went by +and the plan of the work remained in the shadow of the coming years. + +DeGolyer had now reached that time of life when a wise man begins +strongly to suspect that the past is but a future stripped of its +delusions. He was a man of more than ordinary appearance; indeed, +people who knew him, and who believed that size grants the same +advantages to all vocations, wondered why he was not more successful. +He was tall and strong, and in his bearing there was an ease which, to +one who recognizes not a sleeping nerve force, would have suggested +the idea of laziness. His complexion was rather dark, his eyes were +black, and his hair was a dark brown. He was not handsome, but his sad +face was impressive, and his smile, a mere melancholy recognition that +something had been said, did not soon fade from memory. + +One afternoon DeGolyer called at the office of a morning newspaper, +and was told that the managing editor wanted to see him. When he was +shown in he found an aspiring politician laughing with forced +heartiness at something which the editor had said. To the Southern +politician the humor of an influential editor is full of a delirious +mellowness. + +When the politician went out the editor invited DeGolyer to take a +seat. "Mr. DeGolyer, a number of your sketches have been well +received." + +"Yes, sir; they have made me a few encouraging enemies." + +The editor smiled. "And you regard enemies as an encouragement, eh?" + +"Yes, as a proof of success. Our friends mark out a course for us, and +if we depart from it and do something better than their +specifications call for, they become our enemies." + +"I don't know but you are right." After a short silence the editor +continued: "Mr. DeGolyer, we have been thinking of sending a man down +into Costa Rica. Our merchants believe that if we were to pay more +attention to that country we might thereby improve our trade. What we +want is a number of letters intended to familiarize us with those +people--want to show, you understand, that we are interested in them." + +They talked during an hour. The nest day DeGolyer was on board a +steamer bound for Punta Arenas. On the vessel he met a young man who +said that his name was Henry Sawyer; and this young man was so blithe +and light-hearted that DeGolyer, yielding to the persuasion of +contrast, was drawn toward him. Young Sawyer was accompanied by his +uncle, a short, fat, and at times a crusty old fellow. DeGolyer did +not think that the uncle was wholly sound of mind. One evening, just +before reaching port, and while the two young men were standing on +deck, looking landward, young Sawyer said: + +"Do you know, I think more of you than of any fellow I ever met?" + +"I don't know it," DeGolyer answered, "but I am tempted to hope so." + +"Good. I do, and that's a fact. You see, I've led a most peculiar sort +of life. I never had any home--that is, any real home. I don't +remember a thing about my father and mother. They died when I was very +young, and then my uncle took me. Uncle never married and never was +particularly attached to any one place. We have traveled a good deal; +have lived quite a while in New Orleans, but for the past two years we +have lived in a little bit of a place called Ulmata, in central Costa +Rica. Uncle's got an interest in some mines not far from there. Say, +why wouldn't it be a good idea for you to go to Ulmata and write your +letters from there? Ain't any railroad, but there's a mule line +running to the coast. How does it strike you?" + +"I'd like to, but I'm afraid that it would take my letters too long to +reach New Orleans; still, I don't know what difference that would +make, as I'm not going to write news. After all," he added, as though +he were arguing with himself, "I should think that the interior is +more interesting than the coast, for people don't hang their +characteristics over the coast line." + +"There, you've hit the nail the very first lick. You go out there with +us, and I'll bet we have a magnificent time." + +"But your uncle might object." + +"How can he? It ain't any of his business where you go." + +"Of course not." + +"Well, then, that settles it. But really, he'd like to have you. +You'll like him; little peculiar at times, but you'll find him all +right. You'll get a good deal of money for those letters, won't you?" + +"No; a hired mail on a newspaper doesn't get much money." + +"But it must take a good deal of brains to do your work." + +"Presumably, but there stands a long row of brains ready to take the +engagement--to take it, in fact, at a cut rate. The market is full of +brains." + +"How old did you say you were?" + +"I am nearly thirty," DeGolyer answered. + +"I'm only twenty-five, but that don't make any difference; we'll have +a splendid time all the same. You read a good deal, I notice. Uncle's +got a whole raft of books, and you can read to me when you get tired +of reading to yourself. I've gone to school a good deal, but I'm not +much of a hand with a book; but I tell you what I believe--I believe I +could run a business to the queen's taste if I had a chance, and I'm +going to try it one of these days. Uncle tells me that after awhile I +may be worth some money, and if I am I'll get rich as sure as you're +born. Business was born in me, but I've never had a chance to do +anything, I have traded around a little, and I've made some money, +too, but the trouble is that I've never been settled down long enough +to do much of anything, I've scarcely any chance at all out at Ulmata. +What would you rather be than anything else?" + +"I don't know. It doesn't seem that nature has exerted herself in +fitting me for anything, and I am a strong believer in natural +fitness. We may learn to do a thing in an average sort of way, but +excellence requires instinct, and instinct, of course, can't be +learned." + +"I guess that's so. I can see hundreds of ways to make money. I'd +rather be a big merchant than anything else. Old fellow," he suddenly +broke off, "I am as happy as can be to have you go out yonder with us; +and mark what I tell you--we're going to have a splendid time." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A SLEEPY VILLAGE AND A FUSSY OLD MAN. + + +In the village of Ulmata there was just enough of life to picture the +dreamy indolence of man. Rest was its complexion, and freedom from all +marks of care its most pleasing aspect. + +Old Sawyer was so demonstrably gratified to have a companion for his +nephew that he invited DeGolyer to take a room in his house, and +DeGolyer gratefully accepted this kindness. Young Sawyer was delighted +when the household had thus been arranged, and with many small +confidences and unstudied graces of boyish friendship, he kept his +guest in the refreshing atmosphere of welcome. And in the main the +uncle was agreeable and courteous, but there were times when he flew +out of his orbit of goodfellowship. + +Once he came puffing into the room where DeGolyer was writing, and +blusteringly flounced upon a sofa. He remained quiet for a few +moments, and then he blew so strong a spout of annoyance that DeGolyer +turned to him and asked: + +"Has anything gone wrong?" + +The old fellow's eyes bulged out as if he were straining under a heavy +load. "Yes," he puffed, "the devil's gone wrong." + +"But isn't that of ancient date?" DeGolyer asked. + +"Here, now, young fellow, don't try to saw me!" And then he broke off +with this execration: "Oh, this miserable world--this infernal pot +where men are boiled!" He rolled his eyes like a choking ox, and after +a short silence, asked: "Young fellow, do you know what I'd do if I +were of your age?" + +"If you were of my temperament as well as of my age I don't think +you'd do much of anything." + +"Yes, I would; I would confer a degree of high favor on myself. I +would cut my throat, sir." + +"Pardon me, but is it too late at your time of life?" + +"Yes, for my nerve is diseased and I am a coward, an infamous, +doddering old coward, sir. Good God! to live for years in darkness, +bumping against the sharp corners of conscience. I have never told +Henry, but I don't mind telling you that at times I am almost mad. For +years I have sought to read myself out of it, but to an unsettled mind +a book is a sly poison--the greatest of books are but the records of +trouble. Don't you say a word to Henry. He thinks that my mind is as +sound as a new acorn, but it isn't." + +"I won't--but, by the way, he is young; why don't you advise him to +kill himself?" + +The old fellow flounced off the sofa and stood bulging his eyes at +DeGolyer. + +"Don't you ever say such a thing as that again!" he snorted. "Why, +confound your hide! would you have that boy dead?" + +DeGolyer threw down his pen. "No, I would have him live forever in his +thoughtless and beautiful paradise; I would not pull him down to the +thoughtful man's hell of self-communion." + +"Look here, young man, you must have a history." + +"No, simply an ill-written essay." + +"Who was your father?" + +"A fool." + +"Ah, I grant you. And who was your mother?" + +"An angel." + +"No, sir, she--I beg your pardon," the old man quickly added. "You are +sensitive, sir." + +DeGolyer, sadly smiling, replied: "He who suffered in childhood, and +who in after life has walked hand in hand with disappointment, and is +then not sensitive, is a brute." + +"How well do I know the truth of that! DeGolyer, I have been +acquainted with you but a short time, but you appeal to me strongly, +sir. And I could almost tell you something, but it is something that I +ought to keep to myself. I could make you despise me and then offer me +your regard as a compromise. Oh, that American republic of ours, +fought for by men who scorned the romance of kingly courts, is not so +commonplace a country after all. Many strange things happen there, and +some of them are desperately foul. Is that Henry coming? Hush." + +The young man bounded into the room. "Say," he cried, "I've bargained +for six of the biggest monkeys you ever saw. That old fellow "-- + +"Henry," the uncle interrupted, taking up a hat and fanning his +purplish face, "you are getting too old for that sort of foolishness. +You are a man, you must remember, and it may not be long until you'll +be called upon to exercise the judgment of a man." + +"Oh, I was going to buy the monkeys and sell them again for three +times as much as I gave for them, but you bet that when I'm called on +to exercise the judgment, of a man I'll be there. And do you think +that I'd fool with mines or anything else in this country? I +wouldn't. I'd go to some American city and make money. Say, DeGolyer, +when are you going to start off on that jaunt?" + +"What jaunt?" the old man asked. + +"I am going to make a tour of the country," DeGolyer answered. "I'm +going to visit nearly every community of interest and gather material +for my letters, and shall be gone a month or so, I should think." + +"And I'm going with him," said Henry. + +"No," the old man replied, "you are not going to leave me here all +that time alone. I'm old, and I want you near me." + +"All right, uncle; whatever you say goes." + +When DeGolyer mounted a mule and set out on his journey, young Sawyer, +as if clinging to his friendship, walked beside him for some distance +into the country. + +"Well, I'd better turn back here," said the young man, halting. "Say, +Hank, don't stay away any longer than you can help. It's devilish +lonesome here, you know." + +"I won't, my boy." + +"All right. And say, if you can't do the thing up as well as you want +to, throw up the job and come back here, for I'll turn loose, the +first thing you know, and make enough money for both of us." + +"God bless you, I hope that you may always make enough for yourself." + +"And you bet I will, and for you, too. I hate like the mischief to see +you go away. Couldn't think any more of you if we were twin brothers. +And you think a good deal of me, too, don't you, Hank?" + +"My boy," said DeGolyer, leaning over and placing his hand on the +young fellow's shoulder, "I have never speculated with my friendship, +and I don't know how valuable it is, but all of it that is worth +having is yours. You make friends everywhere; I don't. You have +nothing to conceal, and I have nothing to make known. To tell you the +truth, you are the only real friend I ever had." + +"Look out, now. That sort of talk knocks me; but say, don't be away +any longer than you can help." + +"I won't!" He rode a short distance, turned in his saddle, waved his +hand and cried: "God bless you, my boy." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +ALL WAS DARKNESS. + + +Delays and difficulties of traveling, together with his own +determination to do the work thoroughly, prolonged DeGolyer's absence. +Nearly three months had passed. Evening was come, and from a distant +hill-top the returning traveler saw the steeple of Ulmata's church--a +black mark on the fading blush of lingering twilight. A chilly +darkness crept out of the valley. Hungry dogs barked in the dreary +village. DeGolyer could see but a single light. It burned in the +priest's house--a dark age, and as of yore, with all the light held by +the church. The weary man liberated his mule on a common, where its +former companions were grazing, and sought the house of his friends. +The house was dark and the doors were fastened. He knocked, and a +startling echo, an audible darkness, came from the valley. He knocked +again, and a voice cried from the street: + +"Who's that?" + +"Helloa, is that you, my boy?" + +There was no answer, but a figure rushed through the darkness, seized +DeGolyer, and in a hoarse whisper said: + +"Come where there's a light." + +"Why, what's the matter, Henry?" + +"Come where there's a light." + +DeGolyer followed him to a wretched place that bore the name of a +public-house, and went with him into a room. A lamp sputtered on a +shelf. Young Sawyer caught DeGolyer's hands. + +"I have waited so long for you to come back to this dreadful place. I +am all alone. Uncle is dead." + +DeGolyer sat down without saying a word. He sat in silence, and then +he asked: + +"When did he die?" + +"About two weeks after you left." + +"Did he kill himself?" + +"Good God, no! Why did you think that?" + +"Oh, I didn't really think it--don't know why I said it." + +"He was sick only a few days, and the strangest thing has come to +light! He seemed to know before he was taken sick that he was going to +die, and he spent nearly a whole day in writing--writing something for +me--and the strangest thing has come to light. I can hardly realize +it. Here it is; read it. Don't say a word till you have read every +line of it. Strangest thing I ever heard of." + +And this is what DeGolyer read by the light of the sputtering lamp: + +"Years ago there lived in Salem, Mass., two brothers, George and +Andrew Witherspoon. Their parents had passed away when the boys were +quite young, but the youngsters had managed to get a fair start in +life. Without ado let me say that I am Andrew Witherspoon. My brother +and I were of different temperaments. He had graces of mind, but was +essentially a business man. I prided myself that I was born to be a +thinker. I worshiped Emerson. I know now that a man who would +willingly become a thinker is a fool. When I was twenty-three--and +George nearly twenty-one--I fell in love with Caroline Springer. There +was just enough of poetry in my nature to throw me into a devotion +that was almost wild in its intensity, and after my first meeting with +her I knew no peace. The chill of fear and the fever of confidence +came alternating day by day, and months passed ere I had the strength +of nerve to declare myself; but at last the opportunity and the +courage came together. I was accepted. She said that if I had great +love her love might be measured by my own, and that if I did not think +that I could love her always she would go away and end her days in +grief. The wedding day was appointed. But when I went to claim my +bride she was gone--gone with my brother George. To-day, an old man, I +look back upon that time and see myself raving on the very brink of +madness. I had known that George was acquainted with Caroline +Springer--indeed, I had proudly introduced him to her. I will tell my +story, though, and not discourse. But it is hard for an old man to be +straightforward. If he has read much he is discursive, and if he has +not read he is tedious with many words. I didn't leave Salem at once. +I met George, and he did not even attempt to apologize for the wrong +he had done me. He repeated the fool saying that all is fair in love. +'You ought to be glad that you discovered her lack of love in time,' +he said. This was consolation, surely. My mind may never have been +well-balanced, and I think that at this time it tilted over to one +side, never to tilt back. And now my love, trampled in the mire, arose +in the form of an evil determination. I would do my brother and his +wife an injury that could not be repaired. I did not wish them dead; I +wanted them to live and be miserable. A year passed, and a boy was +born. I left my native town and went west. I lived there nearly three +years, and then I sent to a Kansas newspaper an account of my death. +It was printed, and I sent my brother a marked copy of the paper. Two +weeks later I was in Salem. I wore a beard, kept myself close, and no +one recognized me. I waited for an opportunity. It came, and I stole +my brother's boy. I went to Boston, to Europe, back to America; lived +here and there, and you know the rest. My dear boy, I repented +somewhat, and it was my intention, at some time, to restore you to +your parents, but you yourself were their enemy; you crept into my +heart and I could not pluck you out. For a time the story of your +mysterious disappearance filled the newspapers. You were found in a +hundred towns, year after year, and when your sensation had run its +course, you became the joke of the paragraphers. It was no longer, +'Who struck Billy Patterson?" but 'Who stole Henry Witherspoon?' Once +I saw your father in New Orleans. He had come to identify his boy; but +he went away with another consignment added to his large stock of +disappointment. Finally all hope was apparently abandoned and even the +newspapers ceased to find you. + +"Your father and mother now live in Chicago. George Witherspoon is one +of the great merchants of that city, and is more than a millionaire. +This is why I have so often told you that one day you would be worth +money. You were young and could afford to wait; I was old, and to me +the present was everything, and you were the present. + +"For some time I have been threatened with sudden death; I have felt +it at night when you were asleep; and now I have written a confession +which for years I irresolutely put aside from day to day. I charge you +to bury me as Andrew Witherspoon, for in the grave I hope to be +myself, with nothing to hide. Write at once to your father, and after +settling up my affairs, which I urge you not to neglect, you can go to +him. In the commercial world a high place awaits you, and though I +have done you a great wrong, I hope that your recollection of my deep +love for you may soften your resentment and attune your young heart to +the sweet melody of forgiveness. + +"ANDREW WITHERSPOON." + +DeGolyer folded the paper, returned it to Henry and sat in silence. +He looked at the smoking lamp and listened to the barking of the +hungry dogs. + +"What do you think, Hank?" + +"I don't know what to think." + +"But ain't it the strangest thing you ever heard of?" + +"Yes, it is strange, and yet not so strange to me. It is simply the +sequel to a well-known story. In the streets of New Orleans, years +ago, when I could scarcely carry a bundle of newspapers, I cried your +name. The story was getting old then, for I remember that the people +paid but little attention to it." + +They sat for a time in silence. Young Witherspoon spoke, but DeGolyer +did not answer him. They heard a guitar and a Spanish love song. + +"Yes, it is strange," said DeGolyer, coming hack from a wandering +reverie. "It is strange that I should be here with you;" and under a +quickening of his newspaper instincts, he added, "and I shall have the +writing of it." + +"But wait awhile before you let your mind ran on on that, Hank. I +don't want to be described and talked about so much. I know it can't +be kept out of the papers, but we'll discuss that after a while. Now, +let me tell you what I've done. I wrote to--to--father--don't that +sound strange? I wrote to him and sent him a copy of uncle's paper--I +would have sent the original, but I wanted to show that to you. I also +sent a note that mother--there it is again--wrote to uncle a long time +ago, and a lock of hair and some other little tricks. I told him to +write to me, and here's his letter. It came nearly four weeks ago. And +think, Hank, I've got a sister--grown and handsome, too, I'll bet." + +Ecstasy had almost made the letter incoherent. It was written first by +one and then another hand, with frequent interchanges; and DeGolyer; +who fancied that he could pick character oat of the marks of a pen, +thought that a mother's heart had overflowed and that a hard, +commercial hand had cramped itself to a strange employment--the +expression of affection. The father deplored the fact that his son +could not be reached by telegraph, and still more did he lament his +inability, on account of urgent business demands, to come himself +instead of sending a letter. "Admit of no delay, but set out for home +at once," the father commanded. "Telegraph as soon as you can, and +your mother and I will meet you in New Orleans. I hope that this may +not be exploited in the newspapers. God knows that in our time we have +had enough of newspaper notoriety. Say nothing to any one, but come at +once, and we can give for publication such a statement as we think +necessary. Of course your discovery, as a sequel to your abduction +years ago and the tremendous interest aroused at the time, will be of +national importance, but I prefer that the news be sent out from this +place." + +Here the handwriting was changed, and "love," "thank God," "darling +child," and emotion blots filled out the remainder of the page. + +"You see," said Witherspoon, "that I have a reason for depriving you +of an early whack at this thing. Now, I have written again and told +them not to be impatient, and that I would leave here as soon as +possible. I have settled up everything here, but I've got to go to a +little place away over on the coast and close out some mining +interests there." + +"It must be of but trifling importance, my boy, and I should think +that you'd let it go." + +"No, sir; I'm going to do my duty by that dear old man if I never do +anything else while I live." + +He held not a mote of resentment. Indeed was his young heart "attuned +to the sweet melody of forgiveness." + +"By the way, Hank, here's a letter for you." + +The communication was brief. It was from New Orleans and ran thus: +"The five letters which we have published have awakened no interest +whatever, and I am therefore instructed to discontinue the service. +Inclosed please find check for the amount due you." + +"What is it, Hank?" + +"Oh, nothing except what I might have expected. Read it." + +Witherspoon read the letter, and crumpling it, broke out in his +impulsive way: "That's all right, old fellow. It fits right into my +plan, and now let me tell you what that is. We'll leave here to-morrow +and go over to Dura and settle up there. I don't know how long it will +take, and I won't try to telegraph until we get through. Dura isn't +known as a harbor, it is such a miserably small place, but ships land +there once in awhile, and we can sail from there. But the main part of +my plan is that you are to go with me and live in Chicago; and I'll +bet we have a magnificent time. I'll go in the store, and I'll warrant +that father--don't that sound strange?--that father can get you a good +place on one of the newspapers. You haven't had a chance. Hank, and +when you do get one, I'll bet you can lay out the best of them. What +do you say?" + +"Henry," said the dark-visaged DeGolyer--and the light of affection +beamed in his eyes--"Henry, you are a positive charm; and if I should +meet a girl adorned with a disposition like yours, I would unstring my +heart, hand it to her and say, 'Here, miss, this belongs to you.'" + +"Oh, you may find one. I've got a sister, you know. What! are you +trying to look embarrassed? Do you know what I'm going to say? I'm +going to lead you up to my sister and say, 'Here, I have caught you a +prince; take him.'" + +"Nonsense, my boy." + +"That's all right; but, seriously, will you go with me?" + +"I will." + +"Good. We'll get ready to-night and start early in the morning. But I +mustn't forget to see the priest again. He was a friend when I needed +one; he took charge of uncle's burial. But," he suddenly broke off +with rising spirits, "won't we have a time? Millionaire, eh? I'll +learn that business and make it worth ten millions." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A STRANGE REQUEST. + + +The next morning, before it was well light, and at a time when brisk +youth and slow age were seeking the place of confession, Henry +Witherspoon went to the priest, not to acknowledge a sin, but to avow +a deep gratitude. The journey was begun early; it was in July. The +morning was braced with a cool breeze, the day was cloudless, and +night's lingering gleam of silver melted in the gold of morn. Young +Witherspoon's impressive nature was up with joy or down with sadness. +The prospect of his new life was a happiness, and the necessity to +leave his old uncle in a foreign country was a sore regret; so +happiness and regret strove against each other, but happiness, +advantaged with a buoyant heart as a contest-ground, soon ended the +struggle. + +On a brown hill-top they met the sunrise, and from a drowsy +roosting-place they flushed a flock of greenish birds. Witherspoon +stood in his stirrups and waved his hat. "Good-by," he cried, "but you +needn't have got up so soon. We didn't want you. Hank," he said, +turning sideways in his saddle, "I think we can get there in about +five days, at the pace we'll be compelled to go; and we can sell these +mules or give them away, just as we like. Going home! I can't get the +strangeness of it out of my head. And a sister, too, mind you. I'm +beginning to feel like a man now. You see, uncle wanted me to be a boy +as long as I could, and it was only of late that he began to tell me +that I must put aside foolishness; but I am beginning to feel like a +man now." + +"You will need to feel like one when you take up your new +responsibilities. You are playing now, but it may be serious enough +after a while." + +"What! Don't preach, Hank. Responsibilities! Why, I'll throw them over +my shoulder like a twine string. But let me tell you something. +There's one thing I'm not going to allow--they shan't say a word +against that old man. Oh, I know the trouble and grief he brought +about, but by gracious, he had a cause. If--if--mother didn't love +him, why did she say that if he didn't love her she would go away +somewhere and grieve herself to death? That was no way to treat a +fellow, especially a fellow that loves you like the mischief. And +besides, why did father cut him out? Pretty mean thing for a man to +slip around and steal his brother's sweetheart. In this country it +would mean blood." + +"You are a jewel, my boy." + +"No, I'm simply just. Of course, two wrongs don't make a right, as the +saying has it, but a wrong with a cause is half-way right, and I'll +tell them at the very start that they better not talk about the +matter. In fact, I told them so in the letter. You've had a pretty +hard time of it, haven't you, Hank?" + +"I shouldn't want an enemy's dog to have a harder one," DeGolyer +answered. + +"But you've got a good education." + +"So has the hog that picks up cards and tells the time of day," said +DeGolyer, "but what good does that do him? He has to work harder than +other hogs, and is kept hungry so that he may perform with more +sprightliness. But if I have a good education, my boy, I stole it, and +I shouldn't be surprised at any time to meet an officer with a warrant +of arrest sworn out against me by society." + +"Good; but you didn't steal trash at any rate. But, Hank, you look for +the dark when the light would serve you better. Don't do it. Throw off +your trouble." + +"Oh, I'm not disposed to look so much for the dark as you may imagine. +Throw it off! That's good advice. It is true that we may sometimes +throw off a trouble, but we can't very well throw off a cause. Some +natures are like a piece of fly-paper--a sorrow alights and sticks +there. But that isn't my nature. It doesn't take much to make me +contented." + +The weather remained pleasant, and the travelers were within a day's +ride of Dura, when Witherspoon complained one morning of feeling ill, +and by noon be could scarcely sit in his saddle. + +"Let us stop somewhere," DeGolyer urged. + +"No," Witherspoon answered, "let us get to Dura as soon as we can. +I've got a fever, haven't I?" + +DeGolyer leaned over and placed his hand on Witherspoon's forehead. +"Yes, you have." + +"The truth is, I haven't felt altogether right since the first day +after we started, but I thought it would wear off." + +When they reached Dura, Witherspoon was delirious. Not a ship was in +port, and DeGolyer took him to an inn and summoned such medical aid as +the hamlet afforded. The physician naturally gave the case a +threatening color, and it followed that he was right, for at the +close of the fourth day the patient gave no promise of improvement. +The innkeeper said that sometimes a month passed between the landing +of ships at that point. The fifth day came. DeGolyer sat by the +bedside of his friend, fanning him. The doctor had called and had just +taken his leave. + +"Give me some water, Hank." + +"Ah, you are coming around all right, my boy," DeGolyer cried. He +brought the water; and when the patient drank and shook his head as a +signal to take away the cup, DeGolyer asked; "Don't you feel a good +deal better?" + +"No." + +"But your mind is clear?" + +"Yes." + +"Shall I put another cold cloth on your head?" + +"If you please." + +And when DeGolyer had gently done this, Witherspoon said: "Sit down +here, Hank." + +"All right, my boy, here I am." + +"Hank, I'm not going to get well." + +"Oh, yes, you are, and don't you let any such nonsense enter your +head." + +"It's a good ways from nonsense, I tell you. I know what I'm talking +about; I know just as well as can be that I'm going to die--now you +wait till I get through. It can't be helped, and there's no use in +taking on over it. I did want to see my father and mother and sister, +but it can't be helped." + +DeGolyer was on his knees beside the bed. He attempted to speak, but +his utterance was choked; and the tears in his eyes blurred to +spectral dimness the only human being whom he held warm in his heart. + +"Hank, while I am able to talk I've got a great favor to ask of you. +And you'll grant it, won't you?" + +"Yes," DeGolyer Bobbed. + +For a few moments the sick man lay in silence. He fumbled about and +found DeGolyer's hand. "My father and mother are waiting for me," he +said. "They have been raised into a new life. If I never come it will +be worse than if I had never been found, for they'll have a new grief +to bear, and it may be heavier than the first. They must have a son, +Hank." + +"My dear boy, what do you mean?" + +"I mean that if I die--and I know that I am going to die--you must be +their son. You must go there, not as Henry DeGolyer, but as Henry +Witherspoon, their own son." + +"Merciful God! I can't do that." + +"But if you care for me you will. Take all my papers--take everything +I've got--and go home. It will be the greatest favor you could do me +and the greatest you could do them." + +"But, my dear boy, I should be a liar and a hypocrite." + +"No, you would be playing my part because I couldn't play it. Once you +said that you would give me your life if I wanted it, and now I want +it. You can make them happy, and they'll be so proud of you. Won't you +try it? I would do anything on earth for you, and now you deny me +this--and who knows but my spirit might enter into you and form a part +of your own? How can you refuse me when you know that I think more of +you than I do of anybody? This is no boy's prank--I'm a man now. Will +you?" + +"Henry," said DeGolyer, "this is merely a feverish notion that has +come out of your derangement. Put it by, and after a while we will +laugh at it. Is the cloth hot again?" + +"Yes." + +"I'll change it." And DeGolyer, removing the cloth and placing his +hand on his friend's forehead, added: "Your fever isn't so high as it +was yesterday. You are coming out all right." + +"No, I tell you that I'm going to die; and you won't do me the only +favor I could ask. Don't you remember saying, not long ago, that a +man's life is a pretense almost from the beginning to the end?" + +"I don't remember saying it, but it agrees with what I have often been +compelled to think." + +"Well, then, if you think that life is a pretense, why not pretend by +request?" + +"Well talk about it some other time, my boy." + +"But there may not be any other time." + +"Oh, yes, there will be. Don't you think you can sleep now?" + +"No, I don't think I can sleep and wake up again." + +But he did sleep, and he did awake again. Three more days passed +wearily away, and the patient was delirious most of the time. +DeGolyer's acquaintance with Spanish was but small, and he could +comprehend but little of what a pedantic doctor might say, yet he +learned that there was not much encouragement to be drawn from the +fact that the sick man's mind sometimes returned from its troubled +wandering. + +DeGolyer was again alone with his friend. It was a hot though a +blustery afternoon, and the sea, in sight through the open door, +sounded the deeper notes of its endless opera. + +"Hank." + +"I'm here, my boy." + +"Have you thought about what I told you to do?" + +"Are you still clinging to that notion?" + +"No; it is clinging to me. Have you thought about it?" + +"Yes." + +"And what did you think?" + +"I thought that for you I would take the risk of playing a part that +you are unable to perform. But really, Henry, I'm too old." + +"You have promised, and my mind is at ease," the sick man said, with a +smile. "Now I feel that I have given my life over to you and that I +shall not really be dead so long as you are alive. Among my things you +will find some letters written by my mother to my uncle, and a small +gold chain and a locket that I wore when I was sto--when uncle took +me. That's all." + +"I will do the best I can, but I'm too old." + +"You are only a few years older than I am. They'll never know. They'll +be blind. You'll have the proof. Go at once. You are Henry +Witherspoon. That's all." + +The blustery afternoon settled into a calm as the sun went down, and a +change came with the night. The sufferer's mind flitted back for a +moment, and in that speck of time he spoke not, but he gave his friend +a look of gratitude. All was over. During the night DeGolyer sat alone +by the bedside. And a ship came at morning. + +A kind-hearted priest offered his services. "The ship has merely +dodged in here," said he, "and won't stay long, and it may be a month +before another one comes." And then he added: "You may leave these +melancholy rites to me." + +A man stepped into the doorway and cried in Spanish: "The ship is +ready." + +DeGolyer turned to the priest, and placing a purse on the table, said: +"I thank you." Then he stepped lightly to the bedside and gazed with +reverence and affection upon the face of the dead boy. He spoke the +name of Christ, and the priest heard him say: "Take his spirit to Thy +love and Thy mercy, for no soul more forgiving has ever entered Thy +Father's kingdom." He took up his traveling-bag and turned toward the +door. "One moment," said the priest, and pointing to the couch, he +asked: "What name?" + +"Henry--Henry DeGolyer." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +DISSECTING A MOTIVE. + + +Onward went the ship, nodding to the beck and call of mighty ocean. +DeGolyer--or, rather, Henry Witherspoon, as now he knew +himself--walked up and down the deck. And it seemed that at every turn +his searching grief had found a new abiding-place for sorrow. His +first strong attachment was broken, and he felt that in the years to +come, no matter what fortune they might bring him, there could not +grow a friendship large enough to fill the place made vacant by his +present loss. An absorbing love might come, but love is by turns a +sweet and anxious selfishness, while friendship is a broad-spread +generosity. Suddenly he was struck by the serious meaning of his +obligation, and with stern vivisection he laid bare the very nerves of +his motive. At first he could find nothing save the discharge of a +sacred duty; but what if this trust had entailed a life of toil and +sacrifice? Would he have accepted it? In his agreement to this odd +compact was there not an atom of self-interest? Over and over again he +asked himself these questions, and he strove to answer them to the +honor of his incentive, but he felt that in this strife there lay a +prejudice, a hope that self might be cleared of all dishonor. But was +there ever a man who, in the very finest detail, lived a life of +perfect truth and freedom from all selfishness? If so, why should +Providence have put him in a grasping world? Give conscience time and +it will find an easy bed, and yet the softest bed may have grown hard +ere morning comes. + +"Who am I that I should carp with myself?" the traveler mused. "Have +the world and its litter of pups done anything for me?" He walked up +and down the deck. "God knows that I shall always love the memory of +that dear boy. But if all things are foreseen and are still for the +best, why should he have died? Was it to throw upon me this great +opportunity? But who am I? And why should a special opportunity be +wrought for me? But who is anybody?" + +Going whither? Home. A father--and he thought of a drunken painter. A +mother--and his mind flew back to a midnight when arms that had +carried him warm with life were cold in death. A millionaire's +son--that thought startled him. What were the peculiar duties of a +millionaire's son? No matter. They might impose a strain, but they +could never be so trying as constant poverty. But who had afflicted +him with poverty? First his birth and then his temperament. But who +gave him the temperament? He wheeled about and walked away as if he +would be rid of an impertinent questioner. + +When the ship reached New Orleans he went straightway to the telegraph +office and sent this message to George Witherspoon: "Will leave for +Chicago to-day." + +And now his step was beyond recall; he must go forward. But conscience +had no needles, and his mind was at rest. In expectancy there was a +keen fascination. He met a reporter whom he knew, but there was no +sign of recognition. A beard, thick, black and neatly trimmed, gave +Henry's face an unfamiliar mold. But he felt a momentary fear, he +realized that a possible danger thenceforth would lie in wait for him, +and then came the easing assurance that his early life, his father and +his mother, were remembered by no one of importance, and that even if +he were recognized as Henry DeGolyer, he could still declare himself +the stolen son of George Witherspoon. Indeed, with safety he could +thus announce himself to the managing editor who had sent him to Costa +Rica, and he thought of doing this, but no, his--his father wanted the +secret kept until the time was ripe for its divulgence. He went into a +restaurant, and for the first time in his life he felt himself free to +order regardless of the prices on the bill of fare. Often, when a +hungry boy, he had sold newspapers in that house, and enviously he had +watched the man who seemed to care not for expenses. As he sat there +waiting for his meal, a newsboy came in, and after selling him a +paper, stood near the table. + +"Sit down, little fellow, and have something to eat." + +This was sarcasm, and the boy leered at him. + +"Sit down, won't you?" + +"What are you givin' me?" + +"This," said Henry, and he handed him a dollar. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +WAITING AT THE STATION. + + +Men bustling their way to the lunch counter; old women fidgeting in +the fear that they had forgotten something; man in blue crying the +destination of outgoing trains; weary mothers striving to soothe their +fretful children; the tumult raised by cabmen that were crowding +against the border-line of privilege; bells, shrieks, new harshnesses +here and there; confusion everywhere--a railway station in Chicago. + +"The train ought to be here now," said George Witherspoon, looking at +his watch. + +"Do you know exactly what train he is coming on?" his wife asked. + +"Yes; he telegraphed again from Memphis." + +"You didn't tell me you'd got another telegram." + +"My dear, I thought I did. The truth is that I've been so rushed and +stirred up for the last day or so that I've hardly known what I was +about." + +"And I can scarcely realize now what I'm waiting for," said a young +woman. "Mother, you look as if you haven't slept any for a week." + +"And I don't feel as if I have." + +George Witherspoon, holder of the decisive note in the affairs of that +great department store known as "The Colossus," may not by design have +carried an air that would indicate the man to whom small tradesman +regarded it as a mark of good breeding to cringe, but even in a place +where his name was not known his appearance would strongly have +appealed to commercial confidence. That instinct which in earlier life +had prompted fearless speculation, now crystalized into conscious +force, gave unconscious authority to his countenance. He was tall and +with so apparent a strength in his shoulders as to suggest the thought +that with them he had shoved his way to success. He was erect and +walked with a firm step; he wore a heavy grayish mustache that turned +under; his chin had a forceful squareness; he was thin-haired, nearing +baldness. In his manner was a sort of firm affability, and his voice +was of that tone which success nearly always assumes, kindly, but with +a suggestion of impatience. His eyes were restless, as though +accustomed to keep watch over many things. When spoken to it was his +habit to turn quickly, and if occasion so warranted, to listen with +that pleasing though frosty smile which to the initiated means, "I +shall be terribly bored by any request that you may make, and shall +therefore be compelled to refuse it." He was sometimes liberal, though +rarely generous. If he showed that a large disaster touched his heart, +he could not conceal the fact that a lesser mishap simply fell upon +his irritated nerves; and therefore he might contribute to a stricken +city while refusing to listen to the distress of a family. + +Mrs. Witherspoon was a dark-eyed little woman. In her earlier life she +must have been handsome, for in the expression of her face there was a +reminiscence of beauty. Her dimples had turned traitor to youth and +gossiped of coming age. Women are the first to show the contempt with +which wealth regards poverty, the first to turn with resentment upon +former friends who have been left in the race for riches, the first to +feel the overbearing spirit that money stirs; but this woman had not +lost her gentleness. + +The girl was about nineteen years of age. She was a picture of style, +delsarted to ease of motion. She was good-looking and had the whims +and the facial tricks that are put to rhyme and raved over in a +sweetheart, but which are afterward deplored in a wife. + +"I feel that I shan't know how to act." + +Witherspoon looked at his daughter and said, "Ellen." + +"But, papa, I just know I shan't. How should I know? I never met a +brother before; never even thought of such a thing." + +"Don't be foolish. We are not the only people that have been placed in +such a position. No matter how you may be situated, remember that you +are not a pioneer; no human strain is new." + +"But it's the only time _I_ was ever placed in such a position." + +"Nonsense. In this life we must learn to expect anything." Mrs. +Witherspoon was silently weeping. "Caroline, don't, please. Remember +that we are not alone. A trial of joy, my dear, is the easiest trial +to bear." + +"Not always," she replied. + +A counter commotion in the general tumult--the train. + +A crowd waited outside the iron gate. A tall young man came through +with the hastening throng. He caught Witherspoon's wandering eye. +Strangers looking for each other are guided by a peculiar instinct, +but Witherspoon stood questioning that instinct. The mother could see +nothing with distinctness. The young man held up a gold chain. + +It was soon over. People who were hastening toward a train turned to +look upon a flurry of emotion--a mother faint with joy; a strong man +stammering words of welcome; a girl seemingly thrilled with a new +prerogative; a stranger in a nest of affection. + +"Come, let us get into the carriage," said Witherspoon. "Come, +Caroline, you have behaved nobly, and don't spoil it all now." + +She gave her husband a quick though a meek glance and took Henry's +arm. When the others had seated themselves in the carriage, +Witherspoon stood for a moment on the curb-stone. + +"Drive to the Colossus," he commanded. Mrs. Witherspoon put out her +hand with a pleading gesture. "You are not going there before you go +home, are you, dear?" she asked. + +"I am compelled to go there, but I'll stay only a moment or two," he +answered. "I'll simply hop out for a minute and leave the rest of you +in the carriage. There's something on hand that needs my attention at +once. Drive to the Colossus," he said as he stepped into the carriage. +A moment later he remarked: "Henry, you are different from what I +expected. I thought you were light." + +"He is just like my mother's people," Mrs. Witherspoon spoke up. "All +the Craigs were dark." + +They drove on in a silence not wholly free from embarrassment. Through +the carriage windows Henry caught glimpses of a world of hurry. The +streets, dark and dangerous with traffic, stretched far away and +ended in a cloud of smoke. "It will take time to realize all this," +the young men mused, and meeting the upturned eyes of Mrs. +Witherspoon, who had clasped her hands over his shoulder, he said: + +"Mother, I hope you are not disappointed in me." + +"You are just like the Craigs," she insisted. "They were dark. And +Uncle Louis was so dark that he might have been taken for an Italian, +and Uncle Harvey"--She hesitated and glanced at her husband. + +"What were you going to say about your Uncle Harvey?" Henry asked. + +"Nothing, only he was dark just like all the Craigs." + +There is a grunt which man borrowed from the goat, or which, indeed, +the goat may have borrowed from man. And this grunt, more than could +possibly be conveyed by syllabic utterance, expresses impatience. +Witherspoon gave this goat-like grunt, and Henry knew that he had +heard of the Craigs until he was sick of their dark complexion. He +knew, also, that the great merchant had not a defensive sense of +humor, for humor, in the exercise of its kindly though effective +functions, would long ago have put these Craigs to an unoffending +death. + +"I don't see why you turn aside to talk of complexion when the whole +situation is so odd," said Ellen, speaking to her father. "I am +not able to bring myself down to a realization of it yet, although +I have been trying to ever since we got that letter from that +good-for-nothing country, away off yonder. You must know that it +strikes me differently from what it does any one else. It is all +romance with me--pure romance." + +Witherspoon said nothing, but his wife replied: "It isn't romance +with me; it is an answer to a prayer that my heart has been beating +year after year." + +"But don't cry, mother," said Ellen. "Your prayer has been answered." + +"Yes, I know that, but look at the long, long years of separation, and +now he comes back to me a stranger." + +"But we shall soon be well acquainted," Henry replied, "and after a +while you may forget the long years of separation." + +"I hope so, my son, or at least I hope to be able to remember them +without sorrow. But didn't you, at times, fancy that you remembered +me? Couldn't you recall my voice?" Her lips trembled. + +"No," he answered, slowly shaking his head. This was the cause for +more tears. She had passed completely out of his life. Ah, the tender, +the hallowed egotism of a mother's love! + +The carriage drew up to the sidewalk, and the driver threw open the +door. "I'll be back in just a minute," said Witherspoon, as he got +out; and when he was gone his wife began to apologize for him. "He's +always so busy. I used to think that the time might come when he could +have more leisure, but it hasn't." + +"What an immense place!" said Henry, looking out. + +"One of the very largest in the world," Ellen replied. "And the +loveliest silks and laces you ever saw." A few moments later she said: +"Here comes father." + +"Drive out Michigan," Witherspoon commanded. They were whirled away +and had not gone far when the merchant, directing Henry's attention, +said: + +"The Auditorium." + +"The what?" + +"The Auditorium. Is it possible you never heard of it?" + +"Oh, yes, I remember now. It was formally opened by the President." + +He did remember it; he remembered having edited telegraph for a +newspaper on the night when Patti's voice was first heard in this +great home of music. + +"Biggest theater in the world," said Witherspoon. + +"Bigger than La Scala of Milan?" Henry asked. + +"Beats anything in the world, and I remember when the ground could +have been bought for--see that lot over there?" he broke off, +pointing. "I bought that once for eighty dollars a foot and sold it +for a hundred." + +"Pretty good sale! wasn't it?" Henry innocently asked. + +"Good sale! What do you suppose it's worth now!" + +"I have no idea." + +"Three thousand a foot if it's worth a penny. There never was anything +like it since the world began. I'm not what you might call an +old-timer, but I've seen some wonderful changes here. Now, this land +right here--fifteen hundred a foot; could have bought it not so very +long ago for fifty. I tell you the world never saw anything like it. +Why, just think of it; there are men now living who could have bought +the best corner in this city for a mere song. There's no other town +like this. Look at the buildings. When a man has lived here a while he +can't live in any other town--any other town is too slow for him--and +yet I heard an old man say that he could have got all the land he +wanted here for a yoke of oxen." + +"But he hadn't the oxen, eh?" + +"Of coarse he had," Witherspoon replied, "but who wanted to exchange +useful oxen for a useless mud-hole? Beats anything in this world." + +Henry looked at him in astonishment. His tongue, which at first had +seemed to be so tight with silence, was now so loose with talk. He had +dropped no hint of his own importance; he had made not the slightest +allusion to the energy and ability that had been required to build his +mammoth institution. His impressive dignity was set aside; he was +blowing his town's horn. + +The carriage turned into Prairie Avenue. "Look at all this," +Witherspoon continued, waving his hand. "I remember when it didn't +deserve the name of a street. Look at that row of houses. Built by a +man that used to drive a team. There's a beauty going up. Did you ever +see anything like it?" + +"I can well say that I never have," Henry answered. + +"I should think not," said Witherspoon, and pointing to the +magnificent home of some obscure man, he added: "I remember when an +old shed stood there. Just look at that carving in front." + +"Who lives there?" Henry asked. + +"Did hear, but have forgotten. Yonder's one of green stone. I don't +like that so well. Here we have a sort of old stone. That house looks +as though it might be a hundred years old, but it was put up last +year. Well, here's our house." + +The carriage drew up under the porte-cocher of a mansion built of +cobble-stones. It was as strong as a battlement, but its outlines +curved in obedience to gracefulness and yielded to the demand of +striking effect. Viewed from one point it might have been taken for a +castle; from another, it suggested itself as a spireless church. +Strangers halted to gaze at it; street laborers looked at it in +admiration. It was showy in a neighborhood of mansions. + +Mrs. Witherspoon led Henry to the threshold and tremulously kissed +him. And it was with this degree of welcome that the wanderer was +shown into his home. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +A MOTHER'S AFFECTION. + + +In one bedazzled moment we review a whole night of darkness. A luxury +brings with it the memory of a privation. The first glimpse of those +drawing-rooms, gleaming with white and warm with gold, were seen +against a black cloud, and that cloud was the past. The wanderer was +startled; there was nothing now to turn aside the full shock of his +responsibilities. He felt the enormity of his pretense, and he began +again to pick at his motive. Mrs. Witherspoon perceived a change in +him and anxiously asked if he were ill. No, but now that his long +journey was ended he felt worn by it. The father saw him with a fresh +criticism and said that he looked older than his years bespoke him; +but the mother, quick in every defense, insisted that he had gone +through enough to make any one look old; and besides, the Craigs, +being a thoughtful people, always looked older than they really were. +In the years that followed, this first day "at home" was reviewed in +all its memories--the library with its busts of old thinkers and its +bright array of new books; the sober breakfast-room in which luncheon +was served; the orderly servants; the plants; the gold fishes; the +heavy hangings; a tiger skin with a life-expressive head; the +portraits of American statesmen; the rich painting of a cow that +flashed back the tradition of a trade-mark bull on a dead wall. + +Evening came with melody in the music-room; midnight, and Henry sat +alone in his room. He was heavy with sadness. The feeling that +henceforth his success must depend upon the skill of his hypocrisy, +and that he must at last die a liar, lay upon him with cold +oppression. Kindness was a reproach and love was a censure. Some one +tapped at the door. + +"Come in." + +Mrs. Witherspoon entered. "I just wanted to see if you were +comfortable," she said, seating herself in a rocking-chair. + +"So much so that I am tempted to rebel against it," he answered. + +She smiled sadly. "There are so many things that I wanted to say to +you, dear, but I haven't had a chance, somehow." + +Her eyes were tear-stricken and her voice trembled. "It isn't possible +that you could know what a mother's love is, my son." + +"I _didn't_ know, but you have taught me." + +"No, not yet; but I will--if you'll let me." + +"If I'll let you?" He looked at her in surprise. + +"Yes, if you will bear with me. Sit here," she said, tapping the broad +arm of the chair. He obeyed, and she took his arms and put them about +her neck. "There hasn't been much love in my life, precious. Perhaps I +am not showy enough, not strong enough for the place I occupy." + +"But you are good enough to hold the place of an angel." + +She attempted to speak, but failed. Something fell on her hand, and +she looked up. The man was weeping. They sat there in silence. + +"In your early life," she said, pressing his arms closer about her +neck, "my love sought to protect you, but now it must turn to you for +support. Your uncle--but you told me not to speak of him." She paused +a moment, and then continued: "Your uncle did me a deep wrong, but I +had wronged him. Oh, I don't know why I did. And he had kept my +letters all these years." Another silence. She was the first to speak. +"Ellen loves me, but a daughter's love is more of a help than a +support." + +"And father?" + +"Oh, he is good and kind," she quickly answered, "but somehow I +haven't kept up with him. He is so strong, and I fear that my nature +is too simple; I haven't force enough to help him when he's worried. +He hasn't said so, but I know it! And of course you don't understand +me yet; but won't you bear with me?" + +In her voice there was a sad pleading for love, and this man, though +playing a part, dropped the promptings of his role, and with the +memory of his own mother strong within him, pressed this frail woman +to his bosom and with tender reverence kissed her. + +"Oh," she sobbed, "I thank God for bringing you back to me. Good +night." + +He closed the door when she was gone, and stood as though he knew not +whither to turn. He looked at the onyx clock ticking on the +mantelpiece. He listened to the rumble of a carriage in the street. He +put out his hands, and going slowly into his sleeping-room, sank upon +his knees at the bedside. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE DOMAIN OF A GREAT MERCHANT. + + +To one who has gazed for many hours upon whirling scenes, and who at +his journey's end has gone to sleep in an unfamiliar place, the +question of self-identity presents itself at morning and of the dozing +faculties demands an answer. Henry lay in bed, catching at flitting +consciousness, but missing it. He tried to recall his own name, but +could not. One moment he felt that he was on board a ship, rising and +sinking with the mood of the sea; then he was on a railway train, +catching sight of a fence that streaked its way across a field. He saw +a boy struggling with a horse that was frightened at the train; he saw +a girl wave her beflowered hat--a rushing woods, a whirling open +space, a sleepy station. Once he fancied that he was a child lying in +bed, not at midnight, but at happy, bird-chattered morning, when the +sun was bright; but then he heard a roar and he saw a street stretch +out into a darkening distance, and he knew that he was in a great +city. Consciousness loitered within reach, and he seized it. He was +called to breakfast. + +How bright the morning. Through the high and church-like windows +softened sunbeams fell upon the stairway. He heard Ellen singing in +the music-room; he met the rich fragrance of coffee. Mrs. Witherspoon, +with a smile of quiet happiness, stood at the foot of the stairs. +Ellen came out with a lithe skip and threw a kiss at him. Witherspoon +sat in the breakfast-room reading a morning newspaper. + +"Well, my son, how do you find yourself this morning?" the merchant +asked, throwing aside the newspaper and stretching himself back in his +chair. + +"First-rate; but I had quite a time placing myself before I was fully +awake." + +"I guess that's true of nearly everybody who comes to Chicago. It +makes no difference how wide-awake a man thinks he is, he will find +when he comes to this city that he has been nodding." + +Breakfast was announced. Ellen took Henry's hand and said: "Come, this +is your place here by me. Mother told me to sit near you; she wants me +to check any threatened outbreak of your foreign peculiarities." + +"Ellen, what do you mean? I didn't say anything of the sort, Henry. It +could make no difference where my mother's people were brought up. The +Craigs always knew how to conduct themselves." + +"Oh, yes," Witherspoon spoke up, "the Craigs were undoubtedly all +right, but we are dealing with live issues now. Henry, we'll go down +to the store this morning"-- + +"So soon?" his wife interrupted. + +"So soon?" the merchant repeated. "What do you mean by so soon? Won't +it be time to go?" + +"Oh, yes, I suppose so." + +"And where do I come in?" asked the girl. + +"You can go if you insist," said Witherspoon, "but there are matters +that he and I must arrange at once. We've got to fix up some sort of +statement for the newspapers; can't keep this thing a secret, you +know, and a tailor must be consulted. Your clothes are all right, my +son," he quickly added, "but--well, you understand." + +Henry understood, but he had thought when he left New Orleans that he +was well dressed. And now for a moment he felt ragged. + +"When shall we have the reception?" Ellen asked. + +"The reception," Henry repeated, looking up in alarm. + +"Why, listen to him," the girl cried. "Don't you know that we must +give a reception? Why, we couldn't get along without it; society would +cut us dead. Think how nice it will be--invitations with 'To meet Mr. +Henry Witherspoon' on them." + +"Must I go through that?" Henry asked, appealing to Mrs. Witherspoon. + +"Of course you must, but not until the proper time." + +"Why, it will be just splendid," the girl declared. "You ought to have +seen me the night society smiled and said, 'Well, we will now permit +you to be one of us.' Oh, the idea of not showing you off, now that +we've caught you, is ridiculous. You needn't appeal to mother. You +couldn't keep her from parading you up and down in the presence of her +friends." + +He was looking at Mrs. Witherspoon. She smiled with more of humor than +he had seen her face express, and thus delivered her opinion: "If we +had no reception, people would think that we were ashamed of our son." + +"All right, mother; if you want your friends to meet the wild man of +Borneo who has just come to town, I have nothing more to say. Your +word shall be a law with me; but I must tell you that whenever you +make arrangements into which I enter, you must remember that society +and I have had scarcely a hat-tipping acquaintance. I may know many +things that society never even dreamed of, but some of society's +simplest phases are dangerous mysteries to me." + +"Nonsense," said Witherspoon. "Society may rule a poor man, but a rich +man rules society. Common sense always commands respect, for nearly +every rule that governs the conduct of man is founded upon it. Don't +you worry about the reception or anything else. You are a man of the +world, and to such a man society is a mere plaything." + +"Well," replied Ellen, wrinkling her handsome brow with a frown, "I +must say that you preach an odd sort of sermon. Society is supposed to +hold the culture and the breeding of a community, sir." + +"Yes, supposed to," Witherspoon agreed. + +"Oh, well, if you question it I won't argue with you." And giving +Henry a meaning look, she continued: "Of course business is first. Art +drops on its worn knees and prays to business, and literature begs it +for a mere nod. Everything is the servant of business." + +"Everything in Chicago is," the merchant replied. + +"Art is the old age of trade," said Henry. "A vigorous nation buys and +sells and fights; but a nation that is threatened with decay paints +and begs." + +"Good!" Witherspoon exclaimed. "I think you've hit it squarely. Since +we went to Europe, Ellen has had an idea that trade is rather low in +the scale of human interest." + +"Now, father, I haven't any such idea, and you know it, too. But I do +think that people who spend their lives in getting money can't be as +refined as those who have a higher aim." + +Witherspoon grunted. "What do you call a higher aim? Hanging about a +picture gallery and simpering over a lot of long-haired fellows in +outlandish dress, ha? Is it refinement to worship a picture simply +because you are not able to buy it? Some people rave over art, and we +buy it and hang it up at home." + +She laughed, and slipping off her chair, ran round to her father and +put her arms about his neck. "I can always stir you up, can't I?" + +"You can when you talk that way," he answered. + +"But you know I don't mean that you aren't refined. Who could be more +gentle than you are? But you must let me enjoy an occasional mischief. +My mother's people, the Craigs, were all full of mischief, and" + +"Ellen," said her mother. + +Witherspoon laughed, and reaching back, pretended to pull the girl's +ears. "Am I going down town with you?" she asked. + +"No, not this morning. I'm going to drive Henry down in the light +buggy. My boy, I've got as fine a span of bay horses as you ever saw. +Cost me five thousand apiece. That's art for you; eh, Ellen?" + +"They are beautiful," she admitted. + +"Yes, and strung up with pride. Get ready, Henry, and we'll go." + +When Witherspoon gathered up the lines and with the whip touched one +of the horses, both jumped as though startled by the same impulse. + +"There's grace for you," said Witherspoon. "Look how they plant their +fore feet." + +Henry did not answer. He was looking back at a palace, his home; and +he, too, was touched with a whip--the thrilling whip of pride. It +lasted but a moment. His memory threw up a home for the friendless, +and upon a background of hunger, squalor and wretchedness his fancy +flashed the picture of an Italian hag, crooning and toothless. + +"We'll turn into Michigan here," said the merchant. "Isn't this a +great thoroughfare? Yonder is where we lived before we built our new +house. Just think what this will be when these elms are old." They +sped along the smooth drive. "Ho, boys! Business is creeping out this +way, and that is the reason I got over on Prairie. See, that man has +turned his residence into a sort of store. A little farther along you +will see fashionable humbuggery of all sorts. These are women fakes +along here. Ho, boys, ho! There's where old man Colton lives. We'll +meet him at the store. In the Colossus Company he is next to me. Smart +old fellow, but he worked many years in the hammer-and-tongs way, and +he probably never would have done much if he hadn't been shoved. Ho, +boys, _ho_! People ought to be arrested for piling brick in the street +this way. Colton was always afraid of venturing; shuddered at the +thought of risking his money; wanted it where he could lay his hands +on it at any time. Brooks, his son-in-law, is a sort of general +manager over our entire establishment, and he is one of the most +active and useful men I ever saw--bright, quick, characteristically +American. I think you'll like him. That place over there"--cutting his +whip toward an old frame house scalloped and corniced in fantastic +flimsiness--"was sold the other day at about thirty per cent more than +it would have brought a few years ago." + +They turned into another street and were taken up, it seemed, by the +swift trade currents that swirl at morning, rush through the noon, +glide past the evening and rest for a time in the semi-calm of +midnight. Chicago has begun to set the pace of a nervous nation's +progress. It is a city whose growth has proved a fatal example to many +an overweaning town. Materialistic, it holds no theory that points not +to great results; adventurous, it has small patience with methods that +slowness alone has stamped as legitimate. Worshiping a deification of +real estate, and with a rude aristocracy building upon the blood of +the sow and the tallow of the bull, its atmosphere discourages one +artist while inviting another to rake up the showered rewards of a +"boom" patronage. Feeling that naught but sleepiness and sloth should +be censured, it resents even a kindly criticism. Quick to recognize +the feasibility of a scheme; giving money, but holding time as a +sacred inheritance. It is a re-gathering of the forces that peopled +America and then made her great among nations; a mighty community with +a growing literary force and with its culture and its real love for +the beautiful largely confined to the poor in purse; grand in a +thousand respects; with its history glaring upon the black sky of +night; with the finest boulevards in America and the filthiest +alleys--a giant in need of a bath. + +The Colossus stood as a towering island with "a tide in the affairs of +men" sweeping past. And it seemed to Henry that the buggy was cast +ashore as a piece of driftwood that touches land and finds a lodgment. +At an earlier day, and not so long ago either, the flaw of unconscious +irony might have been picked in the name Colossus, but now the +establishment, covering almost a block and rising story upon story, +filled in the outlines of its pretentious christening. + +"Tap, tap, tap--cash, 46; tap, tap--cash, 63," was the leading strain +in this din of extensive barter and petty transaction. The Colossus +boasted that it could meet every commercial demand; supply a +sewing-machine needle or set up a saw-mill; receipt for gas bills and +water rates or fit out a general store. Under one roof it held the +resources of a city. Henry was startled by its immensity, and as he +followed Witherspoon through labyrinths of bright gauzes and avenues +of somber goods, he perceived that a change in the tone of the hum +announced the approach of the master. And it appeared that, no matter +what a girl might be doing, she began hurriedly to do something else +the moment she spied Witherspoon coming toward her. The quick signs of +flirtation, signals along the downward track of morality, subsided +whenever this ruler came within sight; and the smirk bargain-counter +miss would actually turn from the grinning idiocy of the bullet-headed +fellow who had come in to admire her and would deign to wait on a +poorly dressed woman who had failed to attract her attention. + +The offices of the management were on the first floor, and Henry was +conducted thither and shown into Witherspoon's private apartment--into +the calico, bombazine, hardware and universal nick-nack holy of +holies. The room was not fitted up for show, but for business. Its +furniture consisted mainly of a roll-top desk, a stamp with its handle +sticking up like the tail of an excited cat, a dingy carpet and +several chairs of a shape so ungenial to the human form as to suggest +that a hint at me desirability of a visitor's early withdrawal might +have been incorporated in their construction. + +"I will see if Colton has come down," Witherspoon remarked, glancing +through a door into another room. "Yes, there he is. He's coming. Mr. +Colton," said Witherspoon, with deep impressiveness, "this is my son +Henry." + +The old man bowed with a politeness in which there was a reminder of a +slower and therefore a more courteous day, and taking the hand which +Henry cordially offered him, said: "To meet you affects me profoundly, +sir. Of course I am acquainted with your early history, and this adds +to the interest I feel in you; but aside from this, to meet a son of +George Witherspoon must necessarily give me great pleasure." + +"Brother Colton is from Maryland," Witherspoon remarked, and a sudden +shriveling about the old man's mouth told that he was smiling at what +he had long since learned to believe was a capital hit of playfulness. +And he bowed, grabbled up a dingy handkerchief that dangled from him +somewhere, wiped off his shriveled smile, and then declared that if +frankness was a mark of the Marylander, he should always be glad to +acknowledge his native State. + +Brooks, Colton's son-in-law, now came in. This man, while a +floor-walker in a dry-goods store, had attracted Witherspoon's notice, +and a position in the Colossus, at that time an experiment, was given +him. He recognized the demands of his calling, and he strove to fit +himself to them. Several years later he married Miss Colton, and now +he was in a position of such confidence that many schemes for the +broadening of trade and for the pleasing of the public's changeful +fancy were entrusted to his management. He was of a size which +appears to set off clothes to the best advantage. His face was pale +and thoughtful, and he had the shrewd faculty of knowing when to +smile. His eyes were of such a bulge as to give him a spacious range +of vision without having to turn his head, and while moving about in +the discharge of his duty, he often saw sudden situations that were +not intended for his entertainment. + +Brooks was prepared for the meeting, and conducted himself with a +dignity that would have cast no discredit upon the ablest floor-walker +in Christendom. He had known that he could not fail to be impressed by +one so closely allied by blood to Mr. George Witherspoon, but really +he had not expected to meet a man of so distinguished a bearing, a +traveler and a scholar, no doubt. + +"Traveler enough to know that I have seen but little, and scholar +enough to feel my ignorance," Henry replied. + +"Oh, you do yourself an injustice, I am sure, but you do it +gracefully. We shall meet often, of course. Mr. Witherspoon," he +added, addressing the head of the Colossus, "we have just arrested +that Mrs. McNutt." + +"How's that? What Mrs. McNutt?" + +"Why, the woman who was suspected of shop-lifting. This time we caught +her in the act." + +"Ah, hah. Have you sent her away?" + +"Not yet. She begs for an interview with you--says she can explain +everything." + +"Don't want to see her; let her explain to the law." + +"That's what I told her, sir." + +Brooks bowed and withdrew. Old man Colton was already at his desk. + +"Now, my son," said Witherspoon, aimlessly fumbling with some papers +on his desk, "I should think that the first thing to be attended to is +that statement for the newspapers. Wait a moment, and we will consult +Brooks. He knows more in that line than any one else about the place." +He tapped a bell. "Mr. Brooks," he said when a boy appeared. Brooks +came, and Witherspoon explained. + +"Ah, I see," said Brooks. "You don't want to give it to any one paper, +for that isn't business. We'll draw off a statement and send it to the +City Press Association, and then it will be given out to all the +papers." + +"That is a capital idea; you will help us get it up." + +"Yes, sir," said Brooks, bowing. + +"That will not be necessary," Henry protested, unable to disguise his +disapproval of the arrangement. "I can write it in a very short time." + +"Ah," Witherspoon replied, "but Brooks is used to such work. He writes +our advertisements." + +"But this isn't an advertisement, and I prefer to write it." + +"Of course, if you can do it satisfactorily, but I should think that +it would be better if done by a practiced hand." + +"I think so too," Henry rejoined, "and for that reason I recommend my +own hand. I have worked on newspapers." + +"That so? It may be fortunate so far as this one instance is +concerned, but as a general thing I shouldn't recommend it. Newspaper +men have such loose methods, as a rule, that they never accomplish +much when they turn their attention to business." + +Henry laughed, but the merchant had spoken with such seriousness that +he was not disposed to turn it off with a show of mirth. His face +remained thoughtful, and he said: "We had several newspaper men about +here, and not one of them amounted to anything. Brooks, your services +will not be needed. In fact, two of them were dishonest," he added, +when Brooks had quitted the room. "They were said to be good newspaper +men, too. One of them came with 'Journalist' printed on his card; had +solicited advertisements for nearly every paper in town. They were all +understood to be good solicitors." + +"What," said Henry, "were they simply advertising solicitors?" + +"Why, yes; and they were said to be good ones." + +"But you must know, sir, that an advertising solicitor is not a +newspaper man. It makes me sick--I beg your pardon. But it does rile +me to hear that one of these fellows has called himself a newspaper +man. Of course there are honest and able men in that employment, but +they are not to be classed with men whose learning, judgment and +strong mental forces make a great newspaper." + +So new a life sprang into his voice, and so strong a conviction +emphasized his manner, that Witherspoon, for the first time, looked on +him with a sort of admiration. + +"Well, you seem to be loaded on this subject." + +"Yes, but not offensively so, I hope. Now, give me the points you want +covered." + +"All right; sit here." + +Henry took Witherspoon's chair; the merchant walked up and down the +room. The points were agreed upon, and the writer was getting well +along with his work when Witherspoon suddenly paused in his walk and +said to some one outside: "Show him in here." + +A pale and restless-looking young man with green neckwear entered the +room. "Now, sir," the merchant demanded somewhat sharply, "what do you +want with me? You have been here three or four times, I understand. +What do you want?" + +"We are not alone," the young man answered, glancing at Henry. + +"State your business or get out." + +"Well, it's rather a delicate matter, sir, and I didn't want anything +to do with it, but we don't always have our own way, you know. Er--the +editor of the paper"-- + +"What paper?" + +"The _Weekly Call_. The editor sent me with instructions to ask you if +this is true?" + +He handed a proof-slip to the merchant, and Henry saw Witherspoon's +face darken as he read it. The next moment the great merchant stormed: +"There isn't a word of truth in it. It is an infamous lie from start +to finish." + +"I told him I didn't think it was true," said the young man, "but he +talked as if he believed it; remarked that you never advertised with +him anyway." + +"Advertise with him! Why, I didn't know until this minute that such a +paper existed. How much of an advertisement does he expect?" + +"Hold on a moment!" Henry cried. "Let me kick this fellow into the +street." + +"Nothing rash," said Witherspoon, putting out his hand. "Sit down, +Henry. It will be all right. It's something you don't understand." And +speaking to the visitor, he added: "Send me your rates." + +"I have them here, sir," he replied, shying out of Henry's reach. He +handed a card to Witherspoon. + +"Let me see, now. Will half a column for a year be sufficient?" + +"Well, that's rather a small ad, sir." + +Henry got up again. "I think I'd better kick him into the street." + +"No, no; sit down there. Let me manage this. Here." The blackmailer +had retreated to the door. "You go back to your editor and tell him +that I will put in a column for one year. Wait. Has anybody seen +this?" he added, holding up the proof-slip. + +"Nobody, sir, and I will have the type distributed as soon as I get +back." + +"See that you do. Tell Brooks; he will send you the copy. Now get out. +Infamous scoundrel!" he said when the fellow was gone. "But don't say +anything about it at home, for it really amounts to nothing." + +He tore the proof-slip into small fragments and threw them into the +spittoon. + +"What is it all about?" Henry asked. + +"Oh, it's the foulest of fabrication. About a year ago there came a +widow from Washington with a letter from one of our friends, and asked +for a position in the store. Well, we gave her employment, and--and it +is about her; but it really amounts to nothing." + +"Why, then, didn't you let me kick the scoundrel into the street?" + +"My dear boy, to a man who has the money it is easier to pay than to +explain. The public is greedy for scandal, but looks with suspicion +and coldness upon a correction. One is sweet; the other is tasteless. +The rapid acquisition of wealth is associated with some mysterious +crime, and men who have failed in wild speculations are the first to +cry out against the millionaire. The rich man must pay for the +privilege of being rich." + +The statement was sent to the city press. It reminded the public of +the abduction of Henry Witherspoon; touched upon the sensation created +at the time, and upon the long season of interest that had followed; +explained the part which the uncle had played, and delicately gave his +cause for playing it. And the return of the wanderer was set forth +with graphic directness. + +At noon the merchant and Henry ate luncheon in a club where thick rugs +hushed a foot-fall into a mere whisper of a walk, where servants, +grave of countenance and low of voice, seemed to underscore the +chilliness of the place. Henry was introduced to a number of +astonished men, who said that they welcomed him home, and who +immediately began to talk about something else; and he was shown +through the large library, where a solitary man sat looking at the +pictures in a comic weekly. After leaving the club they went to a +tailor's shop, and then drove over the boulevards and through the +parks. Witherspoon, with no pronounced degree of pride, had conducted +Henry through the Colossus; he had been pleased, of course, at the +young man's astonishment, and he must have been moved by a strong +surge of self-glorification when his son wondered at the broadness of +the Witherspoon empire, yet he had held in a strong subjection all +signs of an unseemly pride. But when he struck the boulevard system, +his dignified reserve went to pieces. + +"Finest on earth; no doubt about that. Oh, of course, many years of +talk and thousands of pages of print have paved the Paris boulevards +with peculiar interest, but wipe out association, and where would they +be in comparison with these? Look at that stretch. And a few years ago +this land could have been picked up for almost nothing. Look at those +flowers." + +It was now past midsummmer, but no suggestion of a coming blight lay +upon the flower-beds. "Look at those trees. Why, in time they will +knock the New Haven elms completely out." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE INTERVIEWERS. + + +When they reached home at evening they found that five reporters had +been shown into the library and were waiting for them. + +"Glad to see you, gentlemen," said Witherspoon, smiling in his way of +pleasant dismissal, "but really that statement contains all that it is +necessary for the public to know. We don't want to make a sensation of +it, you understand." + +"Of course not," one of the newspaper men replied. + +"And," said the merchant, with another smile, "I don't know what else +can be said." + +But the smile had missed its aim. The attention of the visitors was +settled upon Henry. There was no chance for separate interviews, and +questions were asked by first one and then another. + +"You had no idea that your parents were alive?" + +"Not until after my uncle's death." + +"Had he ever told you why you were in his charge?" + +"Yes; he said that at the death of my parents I had been given to +him." + +"You of course knew the story of the mysterious disappearance of Henry +Witherspoon." + +"Yes; when a boy I had read something about it." + +"In view of the many frauds that had been attempted, hadn't you a +fear that your father might he suspicious of you?" + +"No; I had forwarded letters and held proof that could not be +disputed. The mystery was cleared up." + +"How old are you?" + +"I shall be twenty-five next--next"-- + +"December the fourteenth," Witherspoon answered for him. + +"The truth is," said Henry, "uncle did not remember the exact date of +my birth." + +"Was your uncle a man of means?" + +"Well, I can hardly say that he was. He speculated considerably, and +though he was never largely successful, yet he always managed to live +well." + +"Were you engaged in any sort of employment?" + +"Yes, at different times I was a reporter." + +"It is not necessary that the public should know all this," said +Witherspoon. + +"But we can't help it," Henry replied. "The statement we sent out +would simply serve to hone and strap public curiosity to a keen edge. +I expected something of this sort. The only thing to do is to get +through with it as soon as we can." + +When the interview was ended Henry went to the front door with the +reporters, and at parting said to them: "I hope to see you again, +gentlemen, and doubtless I shall. I am one of you." + +At dinner that evening Witherspoon was in high spirits. He joked--a +recreation rare with him--and he told a story--a mental excursion of +marked uncommonness. + +"What, Henry, don't you drink wine at all?" the merchant asked. + +"No, sir, I stand in mortal fear of it." The vision of a drunken +painter, he always fancied, hung like a fog between him and the liquor +glass. + +"It's well enough, my son." + +"None of the Craigs were drunkards," said Ellen, giggling. + +"Ellen," Mrs. Witherspoon solemnly enjoined, "my mother's people shall +not be made sport of. It is true that there were no drunkards among +them. And why?" + +"Because none of them got drunk, I should think," Henry ventured to +suggest. + +"That, of course, was one reason, my son, but the main reason was that +they knew how to govern themselves." + +The evening flew away with music and with talk of a long ago made +doubly dear by present happiness. The hour was growing late. +Witherspoon and Henry sat in the library, smoking. Ellen had gone to +her room to draft a form for the invitation to Henry's reception, and +Mrs. Witherspoon was on a midnight prowl throughout the house, and +although knowing that everything was right, yet surprised to find it +so. + +"Now, my boy," said the merchant, "we will talk business. Your mother, +and particularly your sister, thought it well for me to make you an +allowance, and while I don't object to the putting of money aside for +you, yet I should rather have you feel the manliness which comes of +drawing a salary for services rendered. That is more American. You see +how useful Brooks has made himself. Now, why can't you work yourself +into a similar position? In the future, the charge of the entire +establishment may devolve upon you. All that a real man wants is a +chance, and such a chance as I now urge upon you falls to the lot of +but few young men. Had such an opportunity been given to me when I was +young, I should have regarded myself as one specially favored by the +partial goddess of fortune." + +He was now walking up and down the room. He spoke with fervor, and +Henry saw how strong he was and wondered not at his great success. + +"I don't often resort to figures of speech," Witherspoon continued, +"but even the most practical man feels sometimes that illustration is +a necessity. Words are the trademarks of the goods stored in the mind, +and a flashy expression proclaims the flimsy trinket." + +Was his unwonted indulgence in wine at dinner playing rhetorical +tricks with his mind? + +"I spoke just now of the partial goddess of fortune," the merchant +continued, "in the hope that I might impress you with a deplorable +truth. Fortune is vested with a peculiar discrimination. It appears +more often to favor the unjust than the just. Ability and a life of +constant wooing do not always win success, for luck, the factotum of +fortune, often bestows in one minute a success which a life-time of +stubborn toil could not have achieved. Therefore, I say to you, think +well of your position, and instead of drawing idly upon your great +advantage, add to it. Successful men are often niggardly of advice, +while the prattling tongue nearly always belongs to failure; +therefore, when a successful man does advise, heed him. I think that I +should have succeeded in nearly any walk of life. Sturdy New England +stock, the hard necessity for thrift, and the practical common school +fitted me to push my way to the front. Don't think that I am boasting. +It is no more of vanity for one to say 'I have succeeded' than to say +'I will succeed.'" He paused a moment and stood near Henry's chair. +"You have the chance to become what I cannot be--one of the wealthiest +men in this country." He sat down, and leaning back in his +leather-covered chair, stretched forth his legs and crossed his +slippered feet. He looked at Henry. + +"To some men success is natural, and to others it is impossible," +Henry replied. "I can well see that prosperity could not long have +kept beyond your reach. Your mind led you in a certain direction, and +instead of resisting, you gladly followed it. You say that you should +have been a success in any walk of life, and while it is true that you +would have made money, it does not follow that you would have found +that contentment which is beyond all earthly price. I admit that the +opportunity which you offer me is one of rarest advantage, but knowing +myself, I feel that in accepting it I should be doing you an +injustice. It may be so strange to you that you can't understand it, +yet I haven't a single commercial instinct; and to be frank with you, +that great store would be a penitentiary to me. Wait a moment." +Witherspoon had bounded to his feet. "I am willing to do almost +anything," Henry continued, "but I can't consent to a complete +darkening of my life. I admit that I am peculiar, and shall not +dispute you in your belief that my mind is not strong, but I am firm +when it comes to purpose. To hear one say that he doesn't care to be +the richest man in the country may strike you as the utterance of a +fool, and yet I am compelled to say it. I don't want you to make me an +allowance. I don't want"-- + +"What in God's name do you want, sir!" Witherspoon exclaimed. He was +walking up and down the room, not with the regular paces which had +marked his stroll a few moments before, but with the uneven tread of +anger. "What in God's name can you ask?" + +He turned upon Henry, and standing still, gave him a look of hard +inquiry. + +"I ask nothing in God's name, and surely nothing in my own. I knew +that this would put you out, and I dreaded it, but it had to come. +Suppose that at my age the opportunity to manage a cattle ranch had +been offered you." + +"I would have taken it; I would have made it the biggest cattle ranch +in the country. It galls me, sir, it galls me to see my own children +sticking up their noses at honest employment." + +"Pardon me, but so far as I am concerned you are wrong. I seek honest +employment. But what is the most honest employment? Any employment +that yields an income? No; but the work that one is best fitted for +and which is therefore the most satisfactory. If you had shaped my +early life"-- + +"Andrew was a fool!" Witherspoon broke in. "He was crazy." + +"But he was something of a gentleman, sir." + +"Gentleman!" Witherspoon snorted; "he was the worst of all thieves--a +child-stealer." + +"And had you been entirely blameless, sir?" + +"What! and do you reproach me? Now look here." He pointed a shaking +finger at Henry. "Don't you ever hint at such a thing again. My God, +this is disgraceful!" he muttered, resuming his uneven walk. "My hopes +were so built up. Now you knock them down. What the devil do you +want, sir!" he exclaimed, wheeling about. + +"I will tell you if you will listen." + +"Oh, yes, of course you will. It will no doubt do you great good to +humiliate me." + +"When you feel, sir, that I am humiliating you, one word is all you +need to say." + +"What's that? Come now, no foolish threats. What is it you want to +do?" + +"I have an idea," Henry answered, "that I could manage a newspaper." + +"The devil you have." + +"Yes, the devil I have, if you insist. I am a newspaper man and I like +the work. It holds a fascination for me while everything else is dull. +Now, I have a proposal to make, not a modest one, perhaps, but one +which I hope you will patiently consider--if you can. It would be easy +for you to get control of some afternoon newspaper. I can take charge +of it, and in time pay back the money you invest. I don't ask you to +give me a cent." + +The merchant was about to reply, when Mrs. Witherspoon entered the +room. "Why, what is the matter?" she asked. + +Witherspoon resumed his seat, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, +stretched forth his legs, crossed his feet and nervously shook them. + +"What is the matter?" she repeated. + +"Everything's the matter," Witherspoon declared. "I have +suggested"--he didn't say demanded--"that Henry should go into the +store and gradually take charge of the whole thing, and he positively +refuses. He wants to ran a newspaper." The merchant grunted and shook +his feet. + +"But is there anything so bad about that?" she asked. "I am sure it is +no more than natural. My uncle Louis used to write for the Salem +_Monitor_." + +He looked at her--he did not say a word, but he looked at her. + +"And Uncle Harvey"-- + +He grunted, flounced out of his chair and quitted the room. + +"Mother," said Henry, getting up and taking her hand, "I am grieved +that this dispute arose. I know that he is set in his ways, and it is +unfortunate that I was compelled to cross him, but it had to come +sooner or later." + +"I am very sorry, but I don't blame you, my son. If you don't want to +go into the store, why should you?" + +They heard Witherspoon's jolting walk, up and down the hall. + +"You have but one life here on this earth," she said, "and I don't see +why you should make that one life miserable by engaging in something +that is distasteful to you. But if your father has a fault it is that +he believes every one should think as he does. Don't say anything more +to him to-night." + +When Henry went out Witherspoon was still walking up and down the +hall. They passed, but took not the slightest notice of each other. +How different from the night before. Henry lay awake, thinking of the +dead boy, and pictured his eternal sleeping-place, hard by the stormy +sea. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +ROMPED WITH THE GIRL. + + +The morning was heavy and almost breathless. The smoke of the city +hung low in the streets. Henry had passed through a dreamful and +uneasy sleep. He thought it wise to remain in his room until the +merchant was gone down town, and troublously he had begun to doze +again when Ellen's voice aroused him. "Come on down!" she cried, +tapping on the door. "You just ought to see what the newspapers have +said about you. Everybody in the neighborhood is staring at us. Come +on down." + +Witherspoon was sitting on a sofa with a pile of newspapers beside +him. He looked up as Henry entered, and in the expression of his face +there was no displeasure to recall the controversy of the night +before. + +"Well, sir," said he, "they have given you a broad spread." + +The reporters had done their work well. It was a great sensation. +Henry was variously described. One report said that he had a +dreaminess of eye that was not characteristic of this strong, +pragmatic family; another declared him to be "tall, rather handsome, +black-bearded, and with the quiet sense of humor that belongs to the +temperament of a modest man." One reporter had noticed that his +Southern-cut clothes did not fit him. + +"He might have said something nicer than that," Ellen remarked, with +a natural protest against this undue familiarity. + +"I don't know why we should be spoken of as a pragmatic family," said +Mrs. Witherspoon. "Of course your father has always been in business, +but I don't see"-- + +Witherspoon began to grunt. "It's all right," said he. "It's all +right." He had to say something. "Come, I must get down town." + +"Shall I go with you?" Henry asked. + +For a moment Witherspoon was silent. "Not unless you want to," he +answered. + +They sat down to breakfast. Henry nervously expected another outbreak. +The merchant began to say something, but stopped on a half utterance +and cleared his throat. "It is coming," Henry thought. + +"I have studied over our talk of last night," said Witherspoon, "and +while I won't say that you may be right, or have any excuse for +presuming that you are right, I am inclined to indulge that wild +scheme of yours for a while. My impression is that you'll soon get +sick of it." + +Mrs. Witherspoon looked at him thankfully. "And you will give him a +chance, father," she said. + +"Didn't I say I would? Isn't that exactly what I said? Gracious alive, +don't make me out a grinding and unyielding monster. We'll look round, +Henry, and see what can be done. Brooks may know of some opening. +You'd better rest here to-day." + +"I am deeply grateful, sir, for the concession you have made," Henry +replied. "I know how you feel on the subject, and I regret"-- + +"All right." + +"Regret that I was forced"-- + +"I said it was all right." + +"Forced to oppose you, but I don't think that you'll have cause to +feel ashamed of me." + +"You have already made me feel proud of your manliness," said +Witherspoon. + +Henry bowed, and Mrs. Witherspoon gave her husband an impulsive look +of gratitude. The merchant continued: + +"You have refused my offer, but you have not presumed upon your own +position. Sincerity expects a reward, as a rule, and when a man is +sincere at his own expense, there is something about him to admire. +You don't prefer to live idly--to draw on me--and I should want no +stronger proof that you are, indeed, my son. It is stronger than the +gold chain you brought home with you, for that might have been found; +but manly traits are not to be picked up; they come of inheritance. +Well, I must go. I will speak to Brooks and see if anything can be +done." + +Rain began to fall. How full of restful meditation was this +dripping-time, how brooding with half-formed, languorous thoughts that +begin as an idea and end as a reverie. Sometimes a soothing spirit +which the sun could not evoke from its boundless fields of light comes +out of the dark bosom of a cloud. A bright day promises so much, so +builds our hopes, that our keenest disappointments seem to come on a +radiant morning, but on a dismal day, when nothing has been promised, +a straggling pleasure is accidentally found and is pressed the closer +to the senses because it was so unexpected. + +To Henry came the conviction that he was doing his duty, and yet he +could not at times subdue the feeling that pleasant environment was +the advocate that had urged this decision. But he refused to argue +with himself. Sometimes he strode after Mrs. Witherspoon as she went +about the house, and he knew that she was happy because be followed +her; and up and down the hall he romped with Ellen. They termed it a +frolic that they should have enjoyed years ago, and they laughingly +said that from the past they would snatch their separated childhood +and blend it now. It was a back-number pleasure, they agreed, but +that, like an old print, it held a charm in its quaintness. She +brought out a doll that had for years been asleep in a little blue +trunk. "Her name is Rose," she said, and with a broad ribbon she +deftly made a cap and put it on the doll's head. After a while Rose +was put to sleep again--the bright little mummy of a child's +affection, Henry called her--and the playmates became older. She told +him of the many suitors that had sought to woo her; of rich men; of +poor young fellows who strove to keep time to the quick-changing tune +of fashion; of moon-impressed youths who measured their impatient +yearning. + +"And when are you going to let one of them take you away?" Henry +asked. Holding his hand, she had led him in front of a mirror. + +"Oh, not at all," she answered, smiling at herself and then at him. "I +haven't fallen in love with anybody yet." + +"And is that necessary?" + +"Why, you know it is, goose. I'd be a pretty-looking thing to marry a +man I didn't love, wouldn't I?" + +"You are a pretty thing anyway." + +"Oh, do you really think so?" + +"I know it." + +"You are making fun of me. If you had met me accidentally, would you +have thought so?" + +"Surely; my eyes are always open to the truth." + +"If I could meet such a man as you are I could love him--'with a +dreaminess of eye not characteristic of this strong, pragmatic +family.'" + +She broke away from him, but he caught her. "If I were not related to +you," he said, "I would be tempted to kiss you." + +"Oh, you'd be _tempted_ to kiss me, would you? If you were not related +to me I wouldn't let you, but as it is--there!" + +His blood tingled. Her hair was falling about her shoulders. For a +moment it was a strife for him to believe that she was his sister. + +"Beautiful," he said, running his fingers through her hair. "Somebody +said that the glory of a woman is her hair; and it is true. It is a +glory that always catches me." + +"Does it? Well, I must put up my glory before papa comes. Oh, you are +such a romp; but I was just a little afraid of you at first, you were +so sedate and dreamy of eye." + +She ran away from him, and looking back with mischief in her eyes, she +hummed a schottish, and keeping time to it, danced up the stairway. + +When Witherspoon came to dinner he said that he had consulted Brooks +and that the resourceful manager knew of a possible opening. + +The owner of the _Star_, a politician who had been foolish enough to +suppose that with the control of an editorial page he could illumine +his virtues and throw darkness over his faults, was willing to part +with his experiment. "I think that we can get it at a very reasonable +figure," said Witherspoon. And after a moment's silence he added: +"Brooks can pull you a good many advertisements in a quiet way, and +possibly the thing may be made to turn oat all right. But I tell you +again that I am very much disappointed. Your place is with me--but we +won't talk about it. How came you to take up that line of work?" + +"I began by selling newspapers." + +Mrs. Witherspoon sighed, and the merchant asked: "And did Andrew urge +it?" + +"Oh, no. In fact I was a reporter before he knew anything about it." + +Witherspoon grunted. "I should have thought," said he, "that your +uncle would have looked after you with more care. Did you receive a +regular course of training?" Henry looked at him. "At school, I mean." + +"Yes, in an elementary way. Afterward I studied in the public +library." + +"A good school, but not cohesive," Witherspoon replied. "A thousand +scraps of knowledge don't make an education." + +"Father, you remember my uncle Harvey," said Mrs. Witherspoon. + +"Hum, yes, I remember him." + +"Well, his education did not prevent his having a thousand scraps of +knowledge." + +"I should think not," Witherspoon replied. "No man's knowledge +interferes with his education." + +"My uncle Harvey knew nearly everything," Mrs. Witherspoon went on. +"He could make a clock; and he was one of the best school teachers in +the country. I shouldn't think that education consists in committing a +few rules to memory." + +"No, Caroline, not in the committing of a thousand rules to memory, +but without rule there is no complete education." + +"I shouldn't think that there could be a complete education anyway," +she rejoined, in a tone which Henry knew was meant in defense of +himself. + +"Of course not," said the merchant, and turning from the subject as +from something that could interest him but little, he again took up +the newspaper project. "We'll investigate that matter to-morrow, and +if you are still determined to go into it, the sooner the better. My +own opinion is that you will soon get tired of it, in view of the +better advantages that I urge upon you, for the worries of an +experimental concern will serve to strengthen my proposal." + +"I am resolved that in the end it shall cost you nothing," Henry +replied. + +"Hum, we'll see about that. But whatever you do, do it earnestly, for +a failure in one line does not argue success in another direction. In +business it is well to beware of men who have failed. They bring bad +luck. Without success there may be vanity, but there can be but little +pride, little self-respect." + +Henry moved uneasily in his chair. "But among those who have failed," +he replied, "we often find the highest types of manhood." + +"Nonsense," rejoined the merchant. "That is merely a poetic idea. What +do you mean by the highest type of manhood? Men whose theories have +all been proved to be wrong? Great men have an aim and accomplish it. +America is a great country, and why? Because it is prosperous." + +"I don't mean that failure necessarily implies that a man's aim has +been high," said Henry, "neither do I think that financial success is +greatness. But our views are at variance and I fear that we shall +never be able to reconcile them. I may be wrong, and it is more than +likely that I am. At times I feel that there is nothing in the entire +scheme of life. If a man is too serious we call him a pessimist; if he +is too happy we know that he is an idiot." + +"Henry, you are too young a man to talk that way." + +"My son," said Mrs. Witherspoon, "the Lord has made us for a special +purpose, and we ought not to question His plans." + +"No, mother," Ellen spoke up, "but we should like to know something +about that especial part of the plan which relates to us." + +"My daughter, this is not a question for you to discuss. Your duty in +this life is so clearly marked out that there can be no mistake about +it. With my son it has unfortunately been different." + +The girl smiled. "A woman's duty is not so clearly marked out now as +it used to be, mother. As long as man was permitted to mark it out her +duty was clear enough--to him." + +"Hum!" Witherspoon grunted, "we are about to have a woman's +advancement session. Will you please preside?" he added, nodding at +Ellen. She laughed at him. He continued: "After a while Vassar will be +nothing but a woman's convention. Henry, we will go down to-morrow and +look after that newspaper." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +ACKNOWLEDGED BY SOCIETY. + + +The politician was surprised. He had not supposed that any one even +suspected that he wanted to get rid of the _Star_; indeed, he was not +aware that the public knew of his ownership of that paper. It was a +very valuable piece of property; but unfortunately his time was so +taken up with other matters that he could not give it the attention it +deserved. Its circulation was growing every day, and with proper +management its influence could be extended to every corner of the +country. Witherspoon replied that he was surprised to hear that the +paper was doing so well. He did not often see a copy of it. The +politician and the merchant understood each other, and the bargain was +soon brought to a close. + +And now the time for the reception was at hand. A florist's wagon +stood in front of the door, and the young man thought, "This is my +funeral." Every preparation gave him a shudder. Ellen laughed at him. + +"It's well enough for you to laugh," said he, "for you are safe in the +amphitheater while I am in the ring with the bull." + +"Why, you great big goose, is anybody going to hurt you?" + +"No; and that's the trouble. If somebody were to hurt me, I could +relieve myself of embarrassment by taking up revenge." + +At the very eleventh hour of preparation he was not only reconciled +to the affliction of a reception, but appeared rather to look with +favor upon the affair. And it was this peculiar reasoning that brought +him round: "I am here in place of another. I am not known. I am as a +writer who hides behind a pen-name." + +The evening came with a rumble of carriages. An invitation to a +reception means, "Come and be pleased. Frowns are to be left at home." +The difference between one society gathering and another is the +difference that exists between two white shoes--one may be larger than +the other. Witherspoon was lordly, and in his smile a stranger might +have seen a life of generosities. And with what a welcoming dignity he +took the hand that in its time had cut the throats of a thousand hogs. +Diamonds gleamed in the mellowed light, and there were smiles none the +less radiant for having been carefully trained. The evening was warm. +There was a wing-like movement of feathered fans. Scented time was +flying away. + +The guests were gone, and Henry sat in his room. He had thrown off the +garments which convention had prescribed, and now, with his feet on a +table, he sat smoking an old black pipe that he had lolled with on the +mountains of Costa Rica. The night which was now ending waved back for +review. Ellen, beautiful in an empire gown, golden yellow, brocaded +satin. "Why did you try to dodge this?" she had asked in a whisper. +"You are the most self-possessed man in the house. Can't you see how +proud we all are of you? I have never seen mother so happy." + +The perfume of praise was in the air. "Oh, I think your brother is +just charming," a young woman had said to Ellen, and Henry had caught +the words. + +"He is like my mother's people." Mrs. Witherspoon was talking to a +woman whose hair had been grayed and who appeared to enjoy the +distinction of being an invalid. The Coltons and the Brooks contingent +had smeared him with compliments. There was a literary group, and the +titles of a hundred books were mentioned; one writer was charming; +another was horrid. There was the group of household government, and +the servant-girl question, which has never been found in repose, was +tossed from one woman to another and caught as a bag of sweets. In the +library was a commercial and real-estate gathering, and the field of +speculation was broken up, harrowed and seeded down. + +The black-bearded muser put his pipe aside, and from this glowing +scene his thoughts flew away into a dark night when he stood in +Ulmata, knocking at the door of a deserted house. He got up and stood +at the window. Sparrows twittered. Threads of gray dawn streaked the +black warp of night. + +At morning there was another spread in the newspapers. The wonder of a +few days had spent its force, and the Witherspoon sensation was done. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +A DEMOCRACY. + + +The _Star_ was printed in an old building where more than one +newspaper had failed. The interior of the place was so comfortless in +arrangement, so subject to unaccountable drafts of cold air in winter +and breaths of hot oppression in summer, that it must have been built +especially for a newspaper office. Henry found that the working force +consisted mainly of a few young reporters and a large force of +editorial writers. The weakness of nearly every newspaper is its +editorial page, and especially so when the paper is owned by a +politician. The new manager straightway began a reorganization. It was +an easy matter to form an efficient staff, for in every city some of +the best newspaper men are out of employment--the bright and uncertain +writers who have been shoved aside by trustworthy plodders. He did not +begin as one who knows it all, but he sought the co-operation of +practical men. The very man who knew that the paper could not do +without him was told that his services were no longer needed. In his +day he had spread many an acre of platitudes; he had hammered the +tariff mummy, and at every lick he had knocked out the black dust; he +had snorted loud in controversy, and was arrogant in the certainty +that his blowhard sentence was the frosty air of satire. He was the +representative of a class. To him all clearness of expression was +shallowness of thought, and brightness was the essence of frivolity. +He soon found another place, for some of the Chicago newspapers still +set a premium upon windy dullness. + +Among the writers whom Henry decided to retain was Laura Drury. She +wrote book reviews and scraps which were supposed to be of interest to +women. Her room opened into Henry's, and through a door which was +never shut he could see her at work. The brightness and the modesty of +her face attracted him. She could not have been more than twenty years +of age. + +"Have you been long in newspaper work?" he asked, when she had come in +to submit something to him. + +"Only a short time," she answered, and returned at once to her desk. +Henry looked at her as she proceeded with her work. Her presence +seemed to refine the entire office. He fancied that her hair made the +room brighter. His curiosity was awakened by one touch of her +presence. He sought to know more of her, and when she had come in +again to consult him, he said: "Wait a moment, please. How long have +you been connected with this paper?" + +"About three months, regularly." + +"Had you worked on any other paper in the city?" + +"No, sir; I have never worked on any other paper." + +"Have you lived here long?" + +"No, sir, I have been here only a short time. I am from Missouri." + +"You didn't come alone, did you?" + +She glanced at him quickly and answered: "I came alone, but I live +with my aunt." + +She returned to her work, and she must have discovered that he was +watching her, for the next day he saw that she had moved her desk. + +Henry had applied for membership in the Press Club, and one morning a +reporter told him that he had been elected. + +"Was there any opposition?" the editor asked. + +"Not after the boys learned that you had been a reporter. You can go +over at any time and sign the constitution." + +"I'll go now. Suppose you come with me." + +The Press Club of Chicago is a democracy. Money holds but little +influence within its precincts, for its ablest members are generally +"broke." There are no rules hung on its walls, no cool ceremonies to +be observed. Its atmosphere invites a man to be natural, and warns him +to conceal his vanities. Among that body of men no pretense is sacred. +Here men of Puritan ancestry find it well to curb a puritanical +instinct. A stranger may be shocked by a snort of profanity, but if he +listens he will hear a bright and poetic blending of words rippling +after it. A great preacher, whose sermons are read by the world, sat +one day in the club, uttering the slow and heavy sentences of an +oracle. He touched his finger tips together. He was discoursing on +some phase of life; and an old night police reporter listened for a +moment and said, "Rats!" The great man was startled. Accustomed to +deliver his theories to a silent congregation, he was astonished to +find that his wisdom could so irreverently be questioned. The reporter +meant no disrespect, but he could not restrain his contempt for so +presuming a piece of ignorance. He turned to the preacher and showed +him where his theories were wrong. With a pin he touched the bubble of +the great man's presumption, and it was done kindly, for when the +sage arose to go he said: "I must confess that I have learned +something. I fear that a preacher's library does not contain all that +is worth knowing." And this, more than any of his sermons, proved his +wisdom. + +In the Press Club the pulse of the town can be felt, and scandals that +money and social influence have suppressed are known there. The +characters of public men are correctly estimated; snobs are laughed +at; and the society woman who seeks to bribe the press with she +cajolery of a smile is a familiar joke. Of course this is not wholly a +harmonious body, for keen intelligence is never in smooth accord with +itself. To the "kicker" is given the right to "kick," and keen is the +enjoyment of this privilege. Every directory is the worst; every +officer neglects his duty. + +Literary societies know but little of this club, for literary +societies despise the affairs of the real worker--they are interested +in the bladdery essay written by the fashionable ass. + +Henry was shown into a large room, brightly carpeted and hung with +portraits. On a leather lounge a man lay asleep; at a round table a +man sat, solemnly playing solitaire; and in one corner of the +apartment sat several men, discussing an outrageous clause in the +constitution that Henry had just signed. The new member was introduced +to them. Among the number were John McGlenn, John Richmond and +a shrewd little Yankee named Whittlesy. Of McGlenn's character +a whole book might be written. An individual almost wholly distinct +from his fellow-men; a castigator of human weakness and yet a +hero-worshiper--not the hero of burning powder and fluttering flags, +but any human being whose brain had blazed and lighted the world. Art +was to him the soul of literature. Had he lived two thousand years +ago, as the founder of a peculiar school of philosophy, he might still +be alive. If frankness be a virtue, he was surely a reward unto +himself. He would calmly look into the eyes of a poet and say, "Yes, I +read your poem. Do you expect to keep on attempting to write poetry? +But you may think better of it after a while. I wrote poems when I was +of your age." He did not hate men because they were wealthy, but he +despised the methods that make them rich. His temperament invited a +few people to a close friendship with him, and gently warned many to +keep a respectful distance. Aggressive and cutting he was, and he +often said that death was the best friend of a man who is compelled to +write for a living. He wrote a subscription book for a mere pittance, +and one of the agents that sold it now lives in a mansion. He regarded +present success as nothing to compare with an immortal name in the +ages to come. He was born in the country, and his refined nature +revolted at his rude surroundings, and ever afterward he held the +country in contempt. In later years he had regarded himself simply as +a man of talent, and when this decision had been reached he thought +less of life. If his intellectual character lacked one touch, that +touch would have made him a genius. When applied to him the term +"gentleman" found its befitting place. + +Careless observers of men often passed Richmond without taking +particular notice of him. He was rather undersized, and was bald, but +his head was shapely. He was so sensitive that he often assumed a +brusqueness in order not to appear effeminate. His judgment of men +was as swift as the sweep of a hawk, and sometimes it was as sure. He +had taken so many chances, and had so closely noted that something +which we call luck, that he might have been touched a little with +superstition, but his soul was as broad as a prairie, and his mind was +as penetrating as a drill; and a fact must have selected a close +hiding-place to escape his search. Sitting in his room, with his plug +of black tobacco, he had explored the world. Stanley was amazed at his +knowledge of Africa, and Blaine marveled at his acquaintance with +political history. + +"We welcome you to our club," McGlenn remarked when Henry had sat +down, "but are you sure that this is the club you wanted to join!" + +Henry was surprised. "Of course I am. Why do you ask that question?" + +"Because you are a rich man, and this is the home of modesty." + +Henry reached over and shook hands with him. "I like that," said he, +"and let me assure you that you have in one sentence made me feel that +I really belong here, not because I am particularly modest, but +because your sentiments are my own. I am not a rich man, but even if I +were I should prefer this group to the hyphenated"-- + +"Fools," McGlenn suggested. + +"Yes," Henry agreed, "the hyphenated fools that I am compelled to +meet. George Witherspoon is a rich man, but his money does not belong +to me. I didn't help him earn any of it; I borrowed money from him, +and, so soon as I can, I shall return it with interest." + +"John," said Richmond, "you were wrong--as you usually are--in asking +Mr. Witherspoon that question, but in view of the fact that you +enabled him to put himself so agreeably on record, we will excuse your +lack of courtesy." + +"I don't permit any man who goes fishing with any sort of ignorant +lout, and who spends a whole day in a boat with him, to tell me when I +am lacking in courtesy." + +Richmond laughed, put his hand to his mouth, threw back his head and +replied: "I go fishing, not for society, but for amusement; and, by +the way, I think it would do you good to go fishing, even with an +ignorant lout. You might learn something." + +"Ah," McGlenn rejoined, "you have disclosed the source of much of your +information. You learn from the ignorant that you may confound the +wise." + +Richmond put his hand to his mouth. "At some playful time," said he, +"I might seek to confound the wise, but I should never so far forget +myself as to make an experiment on you." + +"Mr. Witherspoon," remarked McGlenn, "we will turn from this rude +barbarian and give our attention to Mr. Whittlesy, who knows all about +dogs." + +"If he knows all about dogs," Henry replied, "he must be well +acquainted with some of the most prominent traits of man." + +"I am not talking much to-day," said Whittlesy, ducking his head. "I +went fooling round the Board of Trade yesterday; and they got me, and +they got me good." + +"How much did they catch you for, Whit?" McGlenn asked. + +"I won't say, but they got me, and got me good, but never mind. Ill go +after 'em." + +The man who had been asleep on the leather lounge got up, stretched +himself, looked about for a moment, and then, coming over to the +group, said: "What's all this bloody rot?" Seeing a stranger, he +added, by way of apology: "I thought this was the regular roasting +lay-out." + +"Mr. Witherspoon," said Richmond, "let me introduce Mr. Mortimer, an +old member of the club;" and when the introduction had been +acknowledged, Richmond added: "Mortimer has just thought of something +mean to say and has come over to say it. He dozes himself full of +venom and then has to get rid of it." + +"Our friend Richmond is about as truthful as he is complimentary," +Mortimer replied. + +"Yes," said Richmond, "but if I were no more complimentary than you +are truthful, I should have a slam for everybody." + +"Oh, ho, ho, no," McGlenn cried, and Richmond shouted: "Oh, I have +been robbed." + +Henry looked about for the cause of this commotion and saw a smiling +man, portly and impressive, coming toward them with a dignified mince +in his walk. And Mr. Flummers was introduced with half-humorous +ceremony. He had rather a pleasant expression of countenance, and men +who were well acquainted with him said that he had, though not so long +of arm, an extensive reach for whisky. He was of impressive size, with +a sort of Napoleonic head; and when hot on the trail of a drink, his +voice held a most unctuous solicitude. He was exceedingly annoying to +some people and was a source of constant delight to others. At one +time he had formed the habit of being robbed, and later on he was +drugged; but no one could conjecture what he would next add to his +repertory. His troubles were amusing, his difficulties were humorous, +his failures were laughable, and his sorrows were the cause for jest. +He had a growing paunch, and when he stood he leaned back slightly as +though his rotund front found ease in exhibition. As a law student he +had aimed a severe blow at justice, and failing as an attorney, he had +served his country a good turn. As a reporter he wrote with a torch, +and wrote well. All his utterances were declamatory; and he had a set +of scallopy gestures that were far beyond the successful mimicry of +his fellows. The less he thought the more wisely he talked. Meditation +hampered him, and like a rabbit, he was generally at his best when he +first "jumped up." + +He shook hands with Henry, looked at him a moment and asked: "Are you +going to run a newspaper with all those old geysers you've got over +there?" + +The new member winced. + +"Don't pay any attention to Flummers," John Richmond said. + +"Oh, yes," Flummers insisted. "You see, I know all those fellows. Some +of them were worn out ten years ago--but say, are you paying anything +over there?" + +"Yes, paying as much as any paper in the town." + +"That's the stuff; but say, you can afford it. Who rang the bell? Did +anybody ring? Boy," (speaking to a waiter), "we ought to have +something to drink here." + +"Do _you_ want to pay for it?" Richmond asked. + +"Oh, ho, ho, no, I'm busted. I've set 'em up two or three times +to-day." + +"Why, you stuffed buffalo robe, you"-- + +"Oh, well, it was the other day, then. I'm all the time buying the +drinks. If it weren't for me you geysers would dry up. Say, John, +touch the bell." + +"Wait," said Henry. "Have something with me." + +"Ah, now you command the respect of the commonwealth!" Flummers cried. +"By one heroic act you prove that your life is not a failure. These +fellows round here make me tired. Boy, bring me a little whisky. What +are you fellows going to take? What! you want a cigar?" he added, +speaking to Henry. + +"Oh, I had a great man on my staff yesterday--big railroad man. Do you +know that some of those fellows like to have a man show them how to +spend their money? I see I'm posted for dues. This municipality must +think I'm made of money." + +When he caught sight of the boy coming with the tray, a peculiar +light, such as painters give the face of Hope, illumined his +countenance, and clasping his hands, he unctuously greeted himself. + +"Mr. Flummers," said McGlenn, "we all love you." + +"Oh, no." + +"Yes; it is disreputable, but we love you. It was a long time before I +discovered your beauties. I used to think that the men who loved you +were the enemies of a higher grade of life, and perhaps they were, but +I love you. You are a great man, Mr. Flummers. Nature designed you to +be the president of a life insurance company." + +"Well, say, I know that." + +"Yes," continued McGlenn. "A life insurance company ought to employ +you as a great joss, and charge people for the privilege of a mere +glimpse of you." + +"I shouldn't think," said Richmond, "that a man who had committed +murder in Nebraska would be so extreme as to pose as the president of +a life insurance company." + +"Mr. Hammers, did you commit a murder in Nebraska?" McGlenn asked. + +"Oh, no." + +"But didn't you confess that you killed a man there?" Richmond urged. + +"Oh, well, that was a mistake." + +"What? The confession?" + +"No, the killing. You see, I was out of work, and I struck a doctor +for a job in his drug-store; and once, when the doctor was away, an +old fellow sent over to have a prescription filled, and I filled it. +And when the doctor returned he saw the funeral procession going past +the store. He asked me what it meant, and I told him." + +"Then what did he say?" + +"He asked me if I got pay for the prescription. Oh, but he was a +thrifty man!" Flummers clasped his hands, threw himself back and +laughed with a jolting "he, he, he." "Well, I've got to go. Did +anybody ring? Say, John"--to Richmond--"why don't you buy something?" + +"What? Oh, you gulp, you succession of swallows, you human sink-hole! +Flummers, I have bought you whisky enough to overflow the +Mississippi." + +"Oh, ho, ho, but not to-day, John. Past whisky is a scandal; in +present whisky there lies a virtue. Never tell a man what you have +done, John, lest he may think you boastful, but show him what you will +do now, so that he may have the proof of your ability. Is it possible +that I've got to shake you fellows? My time is too valuable to waste +even with a mere contemplation of your riotous living." + +He walked away with his mincing step. "There's a character," said +Henry, looking after him. "He is positively restful." + +"Until he wants a drink," Mortimer replied, "and then he is restless. +Well, I must follow his example of withdrawal, if not his precept of +appetite. I am pleased to have met you, Mr. Witherspoon, and I hope to +see you often." + +"I think you shall, as I intend to make this my resting-place." + +"There is another character," said McGlenn, referring to Mortimer. "He +is a very learned man, so much so that he has no need of imagination. +He is a _very_ learned man." + +"And he is charmed with the prospect of saying a mean thing," Richmond +replied. "I tell him so," he added, "though that is needless, for he +knows it himself. His mind has traveled over a large scope of +intellectual territory, and he commands my respect while I object to +his methods." + +The conversation took a serious turn, and Richmond flooded it with his +learning. His voice was low and his manner modest--a great man who in +the game of human affairs played below the limit of his abilities. +McGlenn roused himself. When emphatic, he had a way of turning out his +thumb and slowly hammering his knee with his fist. In his sky there +was a cloud of pessimism, but the brightness of his speech threw a +rainbow across it. He was a poet in the garb of a Diogenes. Many of +his theories were wrong, but all were striking. Sometimes his +sentences flashed like a scythe swinging in the sunshine. + +Henry talked as he had never found occasion to talk before. These men +inspired him, and in acknowledgment of this he said: "We may for years +carry in our minds a sort of mist that we cannot shape into an idea. +Suddenly we meet a man, and he speaks the word of life unto that mist, +and instantly it becomes a thought." + +Other members joined the group, and the conversation broke and flew +into sharp fragments. McGlenn and Richmond began to wrangle. + +"Your children may not read my books," said McGlenn, replying to some +assertion that Richmond had made, "but your great-grandchildren will." + +"Oh, that's possible," Richmond rejoined. "I can defend my immediate +offspring, while my descendants may be left without protection. If you +would tear the didacticism out of your books and inject a little more +of the juice of human interest--hold on!" Richmond threw up his arm, +as though warding off a blow. "When that double line comes between his +eyes I always feel that he is going to hit me." + +"I wouldn't hit you. I have some pity left." + +"Or fear--which is it?" + +"Not fear; pity." + +"Why don't you reserve some of it for your readers?" + +McGlenn frowned. "I don't expect you to like my books." + +"Oh, you have realized the fact that the characters are wooden?" + +"No, but I have realized that they are beyond your feeble grasp. I +don't want you to like my books." He hammered his knee. "The book that +wins your regard is an exceedingly bad production. When you search +for facts you may sometimes go to high sources, but when you read +fiction you go to the dogs. A consistent character in fiction is +beyond you." + +"There are no consistent characters in life," said Richmond, "and a +consistent character in fiction is merely a strained form of art. In +life the most arrant coward will sometimes fight; the bravest man at +times lacks nerve; the generous man may sometimes show the spirit of +the niggard. But your character in fiction is different. He must be +always brave, or always generous, or always niggardly. He must be +consistent, and consistency is not life." + +"But inconsistency is life, and you are, therefore, not dead," McGlenn +replied. "If inconsistency were a jewel," he added, "you would be a +cluster of brilliants. As it is, you are an intellectual fault-finder +and a physical hypochondriac." + +"And you are an intellectual cartoon and a physical mistake." + +"I won't talk to you. Even the semblance of a gentleman commands my +respect, but I can't respect you. I like truth, but"-- + +"Is that the reason you seek me?" + +"No, it is the reason I avoid you. Brutal prejudice never held a +truth." + +"Not when it shook hands with you," Richmond replied. + +McGlenn got up, walked over to the piano, came back, looked at his +watch, and addressing Richmond, asked: + +"Are you going home, John?" + +"Yes, John. Suppose we walk." + +"I'll go you; come on." + +They bade Henry good evening and together walked off affectionately. + +"What do you think of our new friend?" Richmond asked as they strolled +along. + +"John, he has suffered. He is a great man." + +"I don't know how he may turn out," Richmond said, "but I rather like +him. Of course he hasn't fitted himself to his position--that is, he +doesn't as yet feel the force of old Witherspoon's money. His +experience has gone far toward making a man of him, but his changed +condition may after a while throw his past struggles into contempt and +thereby corrode his manliness." + +"I don't think that he scraped up his principles from the Witherspoon +side of the house," McGlenn declared. "If he had, we should at once +have discovered in him the unmistakable trace of the hog. Oh, I don't +think he will stay in the club very long. His tendency will be to +drift away. All rich men are the enemies of democracy. If they pretend +that they are not, they are hypocrites; if they believe they are not, +it is because they haven't come to a correct understanding of +themselves. The meanest difference that can exist between men is the +difference that money makes. There is some compassion in an +intellectual difference, and even in a difference of birth there is +some little atonement to be expected, but a moneyed difference is +stiff with unyielding brutality." + +In this opinion they struck a sort of agreement, but they soon fell +apart, and they wrangled until they reached a place where their +pathway split. They halted for a moment; they had been fierce in +argument. Now they were calm. + +"Can't you come over to-night, John?" McGlenn asked. + +"No, I can't possibly come to-night, John. I've got a piece of work on +hand and must get it off. I've neglected it too long already." + +But he did go over that night, and he wrangled with McGlenn until +twelve o'clock. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +BUTTING AGAINST A WALL. + + +When we have become familiar with an environment we sometimes wonder +why at any time it should have appeared strange to us; and it was thus +with Henry as the months moved along. The mansion in Prairie Avenue +was now home-like to him, and the contrasts which its luxurious +belongings were wont to summon were now less sharp and were dismissed +with a growing easiness. Feeling the force which position urges, he +worked without worry, and conscious of a certain ability, he did not +question the success of his plans. But how much of the future did he +intend these plans to cover? He turned from this troublesome +uncertainty and found satisfaction in that state of mind which permits +one day to forecast the day which is to follow, and on a futurity +stretching further than this he resolutely turned his back. In his +work and in his rest at the Press Club, whither he went every +afternoon, he found his keenest pleasure. He was also fond of the +theater, not to sit with a box party, but to loiter with Richmond--to +enjoy the natural, to growl at the tame, and to leave the place +whenever a tiresome dialogue came on. Ellen sometimes drew him into +society, and on Sundays he usually went with Mrs. Witherspoon to a +Congregational church where a preacher who had taught his countenance +the artifice of a severe solemnity denounced the money-chasing spirit +of the age at about double the price that he had received in the East. + +The Witherspoons had much company and they entertained generously, +though not with a showy lavishness, for the old man had a quick eye +for the appearance of waste. It was noticeable, too, that since Henry +came young women who were counted as Ellen's friends were more +frequent with their visits. Witherspoon rarely laughed at anything, +but he laughed at this. His wife, however, discovered in it no cause +for mirth. A mother may plan the marriage of her daughter, for that is +romantic, but she looks with an anxious eye upon the marriage of her +son, for that is serious. + +One evening, when Witherspoon and Henry had gone into the library to +smoke, the merchant remarked: "I want, to talk to you about the course +of your paper." + +"All right, sir." + +The merchant stood on the hearth-rug. He lighted his cigar, turned it +round and round, and then said: + +"Brooks called my attention this afternoon to an article on working +girls. Does it meet with your approval?" + +"Why, yes. It was a special assignment, and I gave it out." + +"Hum!" Witherspoon grunted. He sat down in his leather-covered chair, +crossed his legs, struck a match on the sole of his slipper, relighted +his cigar, which he had suffered to go out, and for a time smoked in +silence. + +"Is there anything wrong about it?" Henry asked. + +"I might ask you if there is anything right about it," Witherspoon +replied. "'The poor ye have with you always,' was uttered by the Son +of God. It was not only a prophecy, but a truth for all ages. There +are grades in life, and who made them? Man. Ah, but who made man? God. +Then who is responsible for the grades? Nature sets the example of +inequality. One tree is higher than another." His cigar had gone out. +He lighted it again and continued: "Writers who seek to benefit the +poor of ten injure them--teach them a dissatisfaction which in its +tarn brings a sort of reprisal on the part of capital." + +"I don't agree with you," said Henry. + +"Of course not." + +"I have cause to know that you are wrong, sir." + +"You think you have," the merchant replied. + +"It is true," Henry admitted, "that we shall always have the poor with +us." + +"I thought so," said Witherspoon. + +"But it is not true that an attempt to aid them is harmful. Their +condition has steadily improved since history "-- + +"You are a sentimentalist." + +"I am more than that," said Henry. "I am a man." + +"Hum! And are you more than that?" + +"How could I be more?" + +"Easily enough. You could be an anarchist." + +"And is that a step higher?" + +"Wolves think so." + +"But I don't" + +"I hope not." + +They sat in silence. The young man was angry, but he controlled +himself. + +"It is easy to scatter dangerous words in this town," said the +merchant. "And, sir,"--he broke off, rousing himself,--"look at the +inconsistency, the ridiculousness of your position. I employ more than +a thousand people; my son says that I oppress them. I"-- + +"Hold on; I didn't say that. I don't know of any injustice that you +inflict upon your employes; but I do know of such wrongs committed by +other men. But you have shown me that the condition of those creatures +is hopeless." + +"What creatures?" + +"Women who work for a living." + +"And do you know the cause of their hopelessness?" + +"Yes; poverty and oppression." + +"Ah, but what is the cause of their poverty?" + +"The greed of man." + +"Oh, no; the appetite of man--whisky. Nine out of ten of those +so-called wretched creatures can trace their wretchedness to drink." + +"But it is not their fault." + +"Oh!" + +Henry was stunned. He saw what a wall he was butting against. "And is +this to go on forever?" he asked. + +"Yes, forever. 'The poor ye have with you always.'" + +"But present conditions may be overturned." + +"Possibly, but other conditions just as bad, or even worse, will build +on the ruins. That is the history you spoke of just now." + +"But slavery was swept away--and, let me affirm," he suddenly broke +off, "that the condition of the poorer people in this town is worse +than the slavery that existed in the South. From that slavery the +government pointed toward freedom, and mill-owners in the North +applauded--men, too, mind you, who were the hardest of masters. I can +bring up now the picture of a green lane. I can see an old negro woman +sweeping the door-yard of her cabin, and she sings a song. Her husband +is at work in the field, and her happy children are fishing in the +bayou. That is the freedom which the government pointed out--the +freedom which a God-inspired Lincoln proclaimed. But do you hear any +glad songs among the slaves in the North? Let me tell you, sir, that +we are confronted with a problem that is more serious than that which +was solved by Lincoln." + +Witherspoon looked at him as though he could think of no reply. At one +moment he seemed to be filling up with the gathering impulses of +anger; at another he appeared to be humiliated. + +"Are you my son?" he asked. + +"Presumably. An impostor would yield to your demands; he would win +your confidence that he might steal your money." + +"Yes," said the merchant, and he sat in silence. + +Henry was the first to speak. "If you were poor, and with the same +intelligence you have now, what would you advise the poor man to do?" + +"I should advise him to do as I did when I was poor and as I do +now--work. Now, let me tell you something: Last year your mother and I +gave away a great deal of money--we do so every year. Does that look +as if I am grinding the poor? You have hurt me." + +"I am sorry. But if I have hurt you with a truth, it should make you +think." + +Witherspoon looked at him, and this time it was with resentment. +"What! you talk about making me think? Young man, you don't know what +it is to think. You are confounded with the difference between +sentimentalism and thought. You go ahead and print your newspaper and +don't worry about the workingwoman. Her class will be larger and worse +off, probably, a hundred years after you are dead." + +"Yes, but before that time her class may rise up and sweep everything +before it. A democracy can't long permit a few men to hold all the +wealth. But there's no good to come from a discussion with you." + +"You are right," said Witherspoon, "but hold on a moment. Don't go +away believing that I have no sympathy for the poor. I have, but I +haven't time to worry with it. There is no reason why any man should +be poor in this country." + +Henry thought of a hundred things to say, but said nothing. He knew +that it was useless; he knew that this man's strength had blinded him +to the weakness of other men, and he felt that American aristocracy +was the most grinding of all aristocracies, for the reason that a +man's failure to reach its grade was attributable to himself alone. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A DIFFERENT HANDWRITING. + + +Henry bade Witherspoon good night and went to his room. A fire was +burning in the grate. At the window there was a rattle of sleet. He +lighted his old briar-root pipe and sat down. He had, as usual, ceased +to argue with himself; he simply mused. He acknowledged his weakness, +and sought a counteracting strength, but found none. But why should he +fight against good fortune? It was not his fault that certain +conditions existed. Why not starve the past and feed the present? But +he had begun to argue, and he shook himself as though he would be +freed from something that had taken hold of him, and he got up and +stood at the window. How raw the night! And as he stood there, he +fancied that the darkness and the sleet of his boyhood were trying to +force their way into the warmth and the light of his new inheritance. +He turned suddenly about, and bowing with mock politeness, said to +himself: "You are a fool." He lighted his pipe afresh, and sat down to +work. Some one tapped at the door. Was it Witherspoon come to deliver +another argument, and to decide again in his own favor? No, it was +Ellen. She had been at the theater. + +"You bring roses out of the storm," said Henry, in allusion to the +color of her cheeks. + +"But I don't bring flattery. Gracious! I am chilled through." She took +off her gloves and held her hands over the grate. "Everybody's gone +to bed, and I didn't know but you might be here, scribbling. Goodness, +what's that you've been smoking?" + +"A pipe." + +She turned from the fire and shrugged her shoulders. "Couldn't you get +a cigar? Why do you smoke that awful thing?" + +"It is an altar of the past, and on it I burn the memories of its +day," he answered, smiling. + +"Well, I think I would get a new altar and burn incense for the +present! Oh, but I've had the stupidest evening." + +"Wasn't the play good?" + +"No, it was talk, talk, with a stress laid on nothing. And then my +escort wasn't particularly entertaining." + +"Who?" + +"Oh, a Mr. Somebody. What have you been doing all the evening?" + +"Something that I found to be worse than useless. Father and I have +been locking horns over the--not exactly the labor question, but over +the wretchedness of working-women." + +"What do you know about the wretchedness of working-women?" she asked. + +"What do I know about it? What can I help knowing about it? How can I +shut my eyes against it?" + +"I don't see why they are so very wretched. They get pay, I'm sure. +Somebody has to work; somebody has to be poor. What are you writing?" + +"The necessary rot of an editorial page." he answered. + +"Why, how your handwriting has changed," she said, leaning over the +table. + +"How so?" + +"Why, this is so different from the letters you wrote before you came +home." + +He did not reply immediately; he was thinking. "Pens in that country +cut queer capers," he said. "Where are those letters, anyway?" + +"Mother has put them away somewhere." + +"I should like to see them again." + +"Why?" + +"Oh, on account of the memories they hold. Get them for me, and I will +give you a description of my surroundings at the time I wrote them." + +"Why, what a funny fellow you are! Can't you give me a description +anyway?" + +"No, not a good one." + +"But I don't want to wake mother, and I don't know that I can find the +letters." + +"Go and see." + +"Oh, you are so headstrong." + +She went out, and he walked up and down the room, and then stood again +at the window. Ellen returned. + +"Here they are." + +"Did you wake mother?" + +"No, but I committed burglary. I found the key and unlocked her trunk, +and all to please you." + +"Good, and for the first time burglary shall be repaid with +gratitude." + +He took the letters and looked at the sprawling characters drawn by +the hand of his friend. "When I copied this confession," said he, "I +was heavy of heart. I was sitting in a small room, looking far down +into a valley where nature seemed to keep her darkness stored, and +from, another window, in the east, I could see a mountain where she +made her light." + +"Go on," she said, leaning with her elbows on the table. + +He began to walk across the room, from the door to the grate, and to +talk as one delivering a set oration. "And I had just finished my work +when a most annoying monkey, owned by the landlord, jumped through the +window. I was so startled that I threw the folded papers at him"-- + +"What have you done!" she cried. + +He had thrown the letters into the fire, he sprang forward, and +snatching them, threw them on the hearth and stamped out the blaze. + +"Oh, I do wish you hadn't done that," she said, hoarse with alarm. +"Mother reads these letters every day, and--oh, I _do_ wish you hadn't +done it! They are all scorched--ruined, and I wouldn't have her know +that I took them out of her trunk for anything. What shall we do about +it? Oh, I know you didn't mean to do it." He had looked appealingly at +her. "I wish I hadn't got them." + +"It is only the copy of the confession that is badly burned. The +original is here on the table," he said. + +"I know, but what good will that do? The letters are so scorched that +it won't do to return them." + +"But I can copy them," he replied. + +"Oh, you genius!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. + +"Thank you," he said, bowing. Then he added: "Let me see--this paper +won't do. Where can we get some fool's-cap?" + +"There must be some in the library," she answered. "I'll slip down and +see." + +She hastened down-stairs and soon returned with the paper. "I feel +like a burglar," she said. + +"And I _am_ a forger," he replied. + +"Won't take you long, will it?" + +"No." + +The work was soon completed. The scorched letters were thrown into the +fire. "She will never know the difference," said Ellen. "It is a sin +to deceive her, but then, following the burglary, deception is a +kindness; and there can't be so very much wickedness in a sin that +keeps one from being unhappy." + +"Or keeps one from being discovered," he suggested. She laughed, not +mirthfully, but with an attempt at self-consolation. "This is our +first secret," she said, as she opened the door. + +"And I think you will keep it," he replied, smiling at her. + +She looked at him for a moment and rejoined: "Indeed, fellow-criminal! +And if you didn't smoke that horrid pipe, what a lovable convict you +would make." + +When she was gone he stood again at the window. The night was +breathing hard. He spoke to himself with mock concern: "Two hours ago +you were simply a fool, but now you are a scoundrel." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +TOLD HIM HER STORY. + + +When he awoke the next morning his blood seemed to be clogged +somewhere far from the seat of thought, and then it came with a leap +that brought back the night before. "But I won't argue with you," he +said, turning over. "Argue," he repeated. "Why, it's past argument +now. I will simply do the best I can and let the worst take care of +itself. But I do despise a vacillator, and I am one. The old man maybe +right. Nature admires strength and never pities the weak. And what am +I to do if I'm not to carry out my part of this programme? The trial +is over," he said as he got up. "I am Henry Witherspoon." + +He was busy in his room at the office when Brooks entered. + +"Well, hard at it, I see." + +"Yes. Sit down; I'll be through with this in a moment." + +He sat himself back from the desk, and Brooks asked, "Can't you go out +to lunch with me?" + +"Isn't time yet." + +"Hardly, that's so," Brooks admitted, looking at his watch. "I +happened to have business in this neighborhood and thought I'd drop +in. Say," he added in a lower tone, and nodding his head toward the +door of the adjoining room, "who is she?" + +"The literary reviewer." + +"She's a stunner. What's her name?" + +"Miss Drury." + +"You might introduce me." + +"She's busy." + +"Probably she'd go to lunch with us." + +"She refuses to go out with any one." + +"Hasn't been here long, eh?" That was the floorwalker's idea. "Well, I +must get back, if you can't go with me. So long." + +Henry took a book into Miss Drury's room. "Here's something that was +sent to me personally," said he, "but treat it as you think it +deserves." + +She looked up with a suggestion of a smile. "Are you willing to trust +the reputation of your friends to me?" she asked. + +"I am at least willing to let you take charge of their vanity." + +"Oh, am I so good a keeper of vanity?" + +"No, you are so gentle an exterminator of it." + +"Thank you," she said, laughing. Her hair seemed ready to break from +its fastenings, and she gave it those deft touches of security which +are mysterious to man, but which a little girl practices on a doll. + +"You have wonderful hair," he said. + +And she answered: "I'm going to cut it off." + +This is woman's almost invariable reply to such a compliment. Henry +knew that she would say it, and she knew that she would not cut it +off, and they both laughed. + +"How did you happen to get into newspaper work?" he asked. + +Her face became serious. "I had to do something," she answered, "and +I couldn't do anything else. My mother was an invalid for ten years, +and I nursed her, read to her day and night. Sometimes in the winter +she couldn't sleep, and I would get up and amuse her by writing +reviews of the books I had read. It was only play, but after she was +dead I thought that I might make it earnest." + +"And your father died when you were very young, I suppose." + +She looked away, and with both hands she began to touch her hair +again. "Yes," she said. + +"Tell me about him." + +"Why about him?" + +"I don't know. Because you have told me about your mother, I suppose." + +"And are you so much interested in me?" she asked, looking earnestly +at him. + +"Yes." + +"I ought not to tell you, but I will. We lived in the country. My +father was"--She looked about her and then at him. "My father was a +drunkard, but my mother loved him devotedly. One day he went to the +village, several miles away, and at evening he didn't come home, and +my mother knew the cause. It was a cold, snowy night. Mother stood at +the gate, holding a lantern. She wouldn't let me stand there with her, +it was so cold, but I was on my knees in a chair at the window, and I +could see her. She stood there so long, and it seemed so cruel that I +should be in a warm room while she was out in the cold, that I slipped +out and closed the door softly after me. I stood a short distance +behind her, and I had not been standing there long when a horse, +covered with snow, came stumbling out of the darkness. Mother called +me, and I ran to her. We went down the road, holding the lantern first +one side, then the other, that we might see into the corners of the +fences. We found him lying dead in the road, covered with snow. Mother +was never well after that night--but really I am neglecting my work." + +He returned to his desk. The proof-sheets of a leading article were +brought to him, but he sat gazing at naught that he could see. + +"Are you done with those proofs?" some one asked. + +"Take them away," he said, without looking up. He sat for a long time, +musing, and then he shook himself, a habit which he had lately formed +in trying to free himself from meditations that sought to possess him. + +He went out to luncheon, and just as he was going into a restaurant +some one spoke to him. It was old man Colton. + +"My dear Mr. Witherspoon," said the old man, "come and have a bite to +eat with me. Ah, come on, now; no excuse. Let's go this way. I know of +a place that will just suit you. This way. I'm no hand for clubs--they +bore me; they are newfangled." + +The old man conducted him into a basement restaurant not noticeable +for cleanliness, but strong with a smell of mutton. + +"Now, suppose we try a little broth," said the old man, when they had +sat down. "Two bowls of mutton broth," he added, speaking to the +waiter. "Ah," he went on, "you may talk about your dishes, but at +noontime there is nothing that can touch broth. And besides," he +added, in a whisper, "there's no robbery in broth. These restaurant +fellows are skinners of the worst order. I'll tell you, my dear Mr. +Witherspoon, everything teaches us to practice economy. We must do +it; it's the saving clause of life. Now, what could be better than +this? Go back to work, and your head's clear. My dear Mr. Witherspoon, +if I had been a spendthrift, I should not only be a pauper--I should +have been dead long ago." + +He continued to talk on the virtues of economy. "Won't you have some +more broth?" + +"No, thank you." + +"Won't you have something else?" he asked, in a tone that implied +extreme fear. + +"No, I'm not hungry to-day." + +This announcement appeared greatly to relieve the old man. "Oh, you'll +succeed in life, my dear young man; but really you ought to come into +the store with us. It would do your father so much good; he would feel +that he has a sure hold on the future, you understand. You don't know +what a comfort Brooks is to me. Why, if my daughter had married a man +in any other line, I--well, it would have been a great disappointment. +Are you going back to work now?" + +"No; to the Press Club." + +"Why don't you come to see us oftener?" + +"Oh, I'm there often enough, I should think--two or three times a +week." + +"Yes, of course, but we are all so anxious that you should become +interested in our work. Don't discourage yourself with the belief that +a man brought up in the South is not a good business man. I am from +the South, my dear Mr. Witherspoon." + +They had reached the sidewalk, and the roar from the street impelled +the old man to force his squeaky voice into a split shout. + +"Southern man"--He was bumped off by the passing throng, but he got +back again and shouted: "Southern man has just as good commercial +ability as anybody. Well, I must leave you here." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +AN AROUSER OF THE SLEEPY. + + +In the Press Club Henry found Mr. Flummers haranguing a party of men +who sat about the round table. He stood that he might have room in +which to scallop his gestures, and he had reached a climax just as +Henry joined the circle. He waited until all interruptions had ceased +and then continued: "Milwaukee was asleep, and I was sent up there to +arouse it. But I shook it too hard; I hadn't correctly measured my own +strength. The old-timers said, 'Let us doze,' but I commanded, 'Wake +up here now, and get a move on you,' and they had to wake up. But they +formulated a conspiracy against me, and I was removed." + +"How were you removed, Mr. Flummers?" McGlenn asked. + +"Oh, a petition, signed by a thousand sleepy citizens, was sent down +here to my managing editor, and I was requested to come away. Thus was +my Milwaukee career ended, but it ended in a blaze that dazzled the +eyes of the old-timers." He cut a scallop. "But papa was not long +idle. The solid South wanted him. They knew that papa was the man to +quiet a disturbance or compel a drowsy municipality to get up and rub +its eyes. Well, I went to Memphis. What was the cause of the great +excitement that followed?" He tapped his forehead. "Papa's nut. But +again had he underestimated himself; again was he too strong for the +occasion. He tossed up the community in his little blanket, and while +it was still in the air, papa skipped, and the railroad train didn't +go any too fast for him." + +"And was that the time you went over into Arkansas and murdered a +man?" Richmond asked. + +"Oh, no; you are mixing ancient history with recent events. But say, +John, you haven't bought anything to-day." + +"Why, you paunch-bulging liar, I bought you a drink not more than ten +minutes ago." + +"But you owed me that one." + +"Get out, you nerveless beef! Under the old law for debt I could put +you in prison for life." + +"Oh, no." + +"Do you really need a drink, Mr. Flummers?" McGlenn asked. + +"Yes." + +"And you don't think that there is any mistake about it?" + +"No." + +"Well, then, as one who has been compelled to love you, I will buy you +a drink." + +"Good stuff. Say, Whit, touch the bell over there, will you?" + +"Touch it yourself, you lout!" + +With a profane avowal that he had never struck so lazy a party, +Flummers rang the bell, and when the boy appeared, he called with +hearty hospitality: "See what the gentlemen will have." + +"Would you like something more?" Henry asked of Flummers, when the +drinks had been served. + +"Oh, I've just had one. But wait a minute. Say, boy, bring me a +cigar." + +When the cigar was brought, Flummers said, "That's the stuff!" and a +moment later he broke out with, "Say, Witherspoon, why don't you kill +the geyser that does the county building for your paper?" + +"Why so?" + +"Oh, he flashes his star and calls himself a journalist. What time is +it? I must hustle; can't stay here and throw away time on you fellows. +Say, John"-- + +Richmond shut him off with: "Don't call me John. A man--I'll say man +out of courtesy to your outward form--a man that hasn't sense enough +to lift a bass into a boat is not to be permitted such a familiarity. +Out in a boat with him last summer and caught a big bass," Richmond +explained to the company, "and brought it up to the side of the boat +and told Flummers to lift it in, not thinking at the time that he +hadn't sense enough, and he grabbed hold of the line and let the fish +get away. It made me sick, and I had a strong fight with myself to +keep from drowning him." + +Flummers tapped his forehead. "Papa's nut says, 'Keep your hand out of +a fish's mouth.' Oh, I don't want to go fishing with you again. No fun +for me to pull a boat and see a man thrash the water. Say, did I take +anything on you just now?" he suddenly broke off, addressing Henry. + +"Yes, but you can have something else." + +"Well, not now. I'll hold it in reserve. In this life it is well to +have reserve forces stationed here and there. Who's got a car-ticket? +I've got to go over on the West Side. What, are you all broke? What +sort of a poverty-stricken gang have I struck? Well, I've given you +as much of my valuable time as I can spare." + +"I suppose you are getting used to this town," said Mortimer, when +Flummers was gone. + +"Yes, I am gradually making myself feel at home," Henry answered. + +"You find the weather disagreeable, of course. We do, I know." + +"I think that Chicago is great in spite of its climate," said Henry. + +"If great at all, it is great in spite of a great many absences," +McGlenn replied; "and in these absences it is mean and contemptible. +To money it gives worship; to the song and dance man it pays admiring +attention, but to the writer it gives neglect--the campaign of +silence." + +Richmond put his hand to his month and threw his head back. "The +trouble with you, John"-- + +"There's no trouble with me." + +"Yes, there is, and it is the trouble that comes to all men who form +an estimate without having first taken the trouble to think." + +"Gentlemen," said McGlenn, "I wish to call your attention to that +remark. John Richmond advising people to think before they form their +estimates. John, you are the last man to think before you form an +estimate. Within a minute after you meet a man you are prepared to +give your estimate of his character; you'll give a half-hour's opinion +on a minute's acquaintance." + +"Some people can't form an opinion of a man after a year's +acquaintance with him, but I can. I go by a certain instinct, and when +the wrong sort of man rubs up against me I know it. I don't need to +wait until he has worked me before I find out that he is an impostor. +But, as I was going to say, the trouble with you is that you forget +the difference that exists between new and old cities. A new community +worships material things; and if it pays tribute to an idea, it must +be that idea which appeals quickest to the eye--to the commoner +senses. And in this Chicago is no worse than other raw cities. Fifty +years from now "-- + +"Who wants to live fifty years in this miserable world?" McGlenn broke +in. "There is but one community in which the writer is at ease, and +that is the community of death. It is populous; it is crowded with +writers, but it holds an easy place for every one. The silence of that +community frightens the rich but its democracy pleases the poor." + +"I suppose, then, that you want to die." + +"I do." + +"But you didn't want to die yesterday?" + +"Yes, it was the very time when I should have died--I had just eaten a +good dinner. You don't know how to eat, John. You stuff yourself, +John. Yes, you stuff yourself and think that you have dined. The +reason is that you have never taken the trouble to become civilized. +It's my misfortune to have friends who can't eat. But some of my +friends can eat, and they are therefore great men. Tod Cowles strikes +a new dish at a house on the North Side and softens his voice and +says, 'Ah hah.' He is a great man, for he knows that he has discovered +an additional pleasure to offset another trouble of this infamous +life; and Colonel Norton is a great man--he knows how to eat; but you, +John, are an outcast from the table, and therefore civilization cannot +reach you. Civilization comes to the feast and asks, 'Where is John +Richmond, whom I heard some of you say something about?' and we reply, +'He holds us in contempt,' and Civilization pronounces these solemn +words: 'He who holds ye in contempt, the same will I banish.'" + +"But," rejoined Richmond, "civilization teaches one of two things--to +think or to become a glutton. Somehow I was kept away from the feast +and had to accept the other teaching. I don't go about deifying my +stomach and making an apostle of the palate of my month. When I eat"-- + +"But you don't eat; you stuff. I have sat down to a table with you, +and after giving your order you would fill yourself so full of bread +and pickles or anything within reach that you couldn't eat anything +when the order was brought." + +"That was abstraction of thought instead of hunger," Richmond replied. + +"No, it was the presence of gluttony. Can you eat, Mr. Witherspoon?" + +"I fear that I must confess a lack of higher civilization. I am not +well schooled in anything, and I suppose that you must class me with +Richmond--as a barbarian. I lack"-- + +"Art," McGlenn suggested. "But for you there is a chance. John +Richmond is hopelessly gone." + +"I sometimes feed my dogs on stewed tripe," said Whittlesy, "and the +good that it does them teaches me that man is to be judged largely by +what he eats." + +"There is absolutely no use for all this bloody rot," Mortimer +declared. "Eating is essential, of course, but I don't see how men can +talk for an hour on the subject, and talk foolishly, at that." + +"If eating is essential," Richmond replied, "it is a wonder that you +don't kick against it." + +"Ah, but isn't it a good thing that I don't kick against +non-essentials? Wouldn't I be obliged to kick against this assemblage +and its beastly rot?" + +Mortimer sometimes emphasized his walk with a peculiar springiness of +step, and with this emphasis he walked off, biting the stem of his +pipe. + +"I thought that by this time you would begin to show a weariness of +the Press Club," McGlenn said to Henry. + +"I don't see why you should have thought that. I said at first that I +was one of you." + +"Yes, but I didn't know but by this time you might have discovered +your mistake." + +"I made no mistake, and therefore could discover none. Let me tell you +that between George Witherspoon's class and me there is but little +affinity. You may call me a crank, and perhaps I am, but I was poor so +long that I felt a sort of pride in the fight I was compelled to make. +Poverty has its arrogance, and foppery is sometimes found in rags. I +don't mind telling you that I have been strongly urged to take what is +called my place in the world; but that place is so distasteful to me +that I look on it with a shudder. I despise barter--I am compelled to +buy, but I am not forced to sell. I am not a sentimentalist--if I were +I should attempt to write poetry. I am not a philosopher--if I were I +shouldn't attempt to run a newspaper. I am simply an ordinary man who +has passed through an extraordinary school. And what I think are +virtues may be errors." + +McGlenn replied: "John is your friend. John thinks that you are a +strong man--I don't know yet, but I do know that you please me when +you are silent and that you don't displease me when you talk. You are +strong enough to say, 'I don't know,' and a confession of ignorance is +a step toward wisdom. Ask John a question to-day and he may say, 'I +don't know,' but to-morrow he does know--he has spent a night with it. +You are a remarkable man, Mr. Witherspoon," he added after a moment's +reflection, "a very remarkable man. Your life up to a short time ago, +you say, was a struggle; your uncle was a poor man. Suddenly you +became the son of a millionaire. A weak nature would straightway have +assumed the airs of a rich man; you remained a democrat. It was so +remarkable that I thought the decision might react as an error, and +therefore I asked if you had not begun to grow weary of this +democracy, the Press Club." + +McGlenn smiled, and his smile had two meanings, one for his friends +and another for his enemies. His friends saw a thoughtful countenance +illumined by an intellectual light; his enemies recognized a sarcasm +that had escaped from a sly and revengeful spirit. But Henry was his +friend. + +"John," said Richmond, "you think"-- + +McGlenn turned out his thumb and began to motion with his fist. "I +won't submit to the narrow dictum of a man who presumes to tell me +what I think." + +"But if nobody were to tell you, how would you find out what you +think? Oh," he added, "I admit that it was presumption on my part. I +was presuming that you think." + +"I do think, and if some one must tell me _what_ I think, let him be a +thinking man." + +"John, you cry out for thought, and are the first to strike at it +with your dogmatism. You don't think--you dogmatize." + +McGlenn turned to Henry. "I had two delightful days last week. John +Richmond was out of town." + +"Yes," said Richmond, putting his feet on a chair. "Falsehood gallops +in riotous pleasure when Truth is absent. Hold on! I can stand one +wrinkle between your eyes, but I am afraid of two." + +"A man of many accomplishments, but wholly lacking in humor," said +McGlenn, seeming to study Richmond for the purpose of placing an +appraisement on him. "A man who worships Ouida and decries Sir Richard +Steele." + +"No, I don't worship Ouida, but I read her sometimes because she is +interesting. As for Steele, he is decried by your praise. Say, John, +you advised me to change grocers every month, and I don't know but it +would be a good plan. An old fellow that I have been trading with has +sent me a bill for eighty-three dollars." + +"John, he probably takes you for a great man and wants to compliment +you." + +"I don't object to a compliment, but that was flattery," Richmond, +replied, taking his feet off one chair and putting them on another. +"Let's ride home, John; it's 'most too slippery to walk." + +"All right. You have ruined my health already by making me walk with +you. Come on; we'll go now." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +AN OLD MAN WOULD INVEST. + + +When Henry went home to dinner he found, already seated at the table, +old man Colton, Mrs. Colton and Mrs. Brooks. The old Marylander got +away from his soup, got off his chair, and greeted Henry with an +effusive display of what might have been his pleasure at seeing the +young man, but which had more of the appearance of a palavering +pretense. He bowed, ducked his head first on one side and then on the +other--and his colored handkerchief dangled at his coat-tails. He +found his tongue, which at first he seemed to have lost, and with his +bald head bobbing about, he appeared as an aged child, prattling at +random. + +"Hah, hah, delighted to see you again, my dear young man. Didn't know +that I was coming when you were so kind as to take lunch with me +to-day; ladies came in the afternoon; Brooks couldn't come with me, +but he will be here later on. Hah, hah, they are taking excellent care +of us, you see. Ah, you sit here by me? Glad." + +Mrs. Colton was exceedingly feeble, and her daughter appeared as a +very old-fashioned girl in a stylish habit--an old daguerreotype sort +of face, smooth, shiny and expressionless. + +"We have all been talking about you," Colton said, as Henry sat down. +"Your mother and sister think you a very wonderful man, and my dear +friend Witherspoon"-- + +"Brother Colton is from Maryland," Witherspoon remarked. + +Colton laughed and ducked his head. Ah, the listless wit of the rich! +It may be pointless, but how laughable is the millionaire's joke. + +"But, my dear young man, we are determined to have you with us," +Colton declared, when he had recovered himself. He nodded at +Witherspoon. + +"We are going to try," the great merchant replied. "By the way, I told +Brooks that we'd have to press Bradley & Adams, of Atchison, Kansas. +They are altogether too slow--there's no excuse for it." + +"None in the world; none whatever," Colton agreed. He more than +agreed, for there was alarm in his voice, and the alarm of an old +miser is pitiable. "Gracious alive, can they expect people to wait +always? Dear, what can the world be coming to when we are all to be +cheated out of our rights? We'll have the law on them." + +Money professes great love for the law, and not without cause. The +rich man thinks that the law is his; and the poor man says, "It was +not made for me." + +Among the ladies Henry was the subject of a subdued discussion, and +occasionally he heard Mrs. Colton say: "Such a comfort to you, and +after so many years of separation. So manly." And then Mrs. Brooks +would say: "Yes, indeed." + +Henry noticed that Colton was not accompanied with his mutton-broth +economy. It was evident that the old man was frugal only to his own +advantage, and that his heartiness came at the expense of other men. + +Brooks arrived soon after dinner. The women went to the drawing-room +to talk about Henry, and to exchange harmless hypocrisies, and the men +betook themselves to the library to smoke and to discuss plots that +are known as enterprises. Country merchants were taken up, turned +over, examined and put down ruined. Brooks was as keen and as ardent +as a prosecuting attorney. Every man who owed a bill was under +indictment. + +"You see," he said to Henry, "we have to hold these fellows tight or +they would get loose and smash us." + +"You needn't apologize to me," Henry replied. + +"Of course not, but as you say that you don't understand business, I +merely wanted to show you to what extent we are driven." + +"Oh, I assure you that it is awfully unpleasant," said Colton, "but we +have to do it. And let me tell you, my dear young man, there is more +crime than you imagine in the neglect of these fellows. In this +blessed country there is hardly any excuse for a man's failure to meet +his obligations. The trouble is that people who can't afford it live +too high. Let them economize; let them be sensible. Why, I could have +gone broke forty-odd years ago; hah, I could go broke now. Oh, I know +that we are all accused of being hard, but you have no idea what the +wealthy people of this city do for the poor. Just look at the charity +balls; look at our annual showing, and you'll find it remarkable." + +Henry felt that the charity of the rich was largely a species of +"bluff" that they make at one another. It was not real charity; it was +an advertisement--it was business. + +"My dear friend Witherspoon," said Colton, mouthing his cigar--he did +not smoke at home--"I am going to branch out more. I'm going to make +investments. I see that it is safe, and I want you to help me." + +"All right; how much do you want to invest?" + +"Oh, I can place my hand on a little money--just a little. I've got +some in stocks, but I've got a little by me." + +"How much?" + +This frightened him. "Oh, I don't know; really, I can't tell. But I +think that I've got a little that I'd like to invest. But I'll talk to +you about it to-morrow." + +"All right." + +"I think real estate would be about the right thing. I could soon turn +it over, you know. Some wonderfully fortunate investments have been +made that way. But I'll talk to you about it to-morrow." + +Brooke said that he was in something of a hurry to get home, and the +visitors took their leave early in the evening. Witherspoon returned +to the library after going to the door with Colton. He sat down, +stretched forth his feet, meditated for a few moments, and said: "The +bark on a beech tree was never any closer than that old man, and yet +he is kind-hearted." + +"When kindness doesn't cost anything, I suppose," Henry suggested. + +"Yes, that's true. He spoke of the wonderful showing of the charities +of this city as though he were a prime mover in them, when, in fact, I +don't think he ever contributed more than a barrel of flour in any one +year. But he is a good business man, and if there were more like him +there would be fewer bankrupts." + +Ellen appeared at the door. "Henry, mother and I are going to your +room to pay you a call." + +"All right, I'll go up with you. Won't you come, father?" + +"No, I believe not. Think I'll read a while and go to bed." + +Henry's room was bright with a gladsome fire. On the table had been +set a vase of moss roses, and beside the vase lay an old black pipe, +tied with a blue ribbon. The young man laughed, and the girl said: + +"Mother's doings. Ugh! the nasty thing!" + +"If my son smoked a pipe when he was in exile," Mrs. Witherspoon +replied, "he can do so now. None of the privileges of a strange land +shall be denied him in his own home." + +She sat in an easy-chair and was slowly rocking. To man a +rocking-chair is a remembrancer of a mother's affection. + +"Light your pipe, my son." + +"No, not now, mother." + +Ellen sat on an arm of Henry's chair. "Your hair would curl if you +were to encourage it," she remarked. + +"Has anybody said anything about curly hair?" he asked. + +"No, but I was just thinking that yours might curl." + +"Do you want me to look like Brooks?" + +She frowned. "He kinks his with a hot poker. I don't like pretty men." + +"How about handsome men?" + +"Oh, I have to like them. You are a handsome man, you know." + +"Nonsense," he replied. + +"Your grandmother was a very handsome woman," said Mrs. Witherspoon. +"She had jet-black hair, and her teeth were like pearls. Ellen, what +did Mr. Coglin say when you gave him the slippers?" Mr. Coglin was a +clergyman. + +"Oh, he thanked me, of course. He couldn't very well have said, 'Take +them away.'" + +"But did you tell him that you embroidered them with your own hands?" + +"Yes, I told him." + +"Then what did he say?" + +"He pretended to be greatly surprised, and said something, but I have +forgotten what it was. Mrs. Brooks is awful tiresome with her 'Yes, +indeed,' isn't she? Seems to me that I'd learn something else." + +"She's hardly so tiresome with her 'Yes, indeed,' as her father is +with his 'Hah, hah, my dear Mr. Witherspoon,'" Henry replied. + +"But he is a very old man, my son," said Mrs. Witherspoon, "and you +must excuse him. I have heard that he was quite aristocratic before +the war." + +"Oh, he never was aristocratic," Ellen declared. "Aristocracy hampered +by extreme stinginess would cut but a poor figure, I should think." + +"Have we set up a grill here?" Henry asked. + +Mrs. Witherspoon nodded at Ellen as if to emphasize the rebuke, and +the young woman exclaimed: "Oh, I'm singled out, am I? Who said that +the old man's 'hah, hah,' was tiresome? You'd better nod at your son, +mother." + +But she gave her son never a nod. In her sight he surely could commit +no indiscretion. A moment later the mother asked: + +"Have they talked to you again about going into the store?" + +"Oh, they hint at it occasionally." + +"Ellen, can't you find a chair? I know your brother must he tired." +Ellen got off the arm of Henry's chair, and soon afterward Mrs. +Witherspoon took the vacated place. The young woman laughed, but said +nothing. The mother fondly touched Henry's hair and smoothed it back +from his forehead. "Don't you let them worry you, my son. They can't +help but respect your manliness. Indeed," she added, growing strangely +bold for one so gentle, "must a man be a merchant whether he will or +not? And whenever you want to write about poor women, you do it. They +are mistreated; they are made wretched, and by just such men as +Brooks, too. What does he care for a woman's misery? And your father's +so blind that he doesn't see it. But I see it. And I oughtn't to say +it, but I will--he has the impudence to tell your father that I give +too much money to the poor. It's none of his business, I'm sure." + +There was a peculiar softness in Henry's voice when he replied: "I +hope some time to catch him interfering with your affairs." + +"Oh, but you mustn't say a word, my son--not a word; and I don't want +your father to know that I have said anything." + +"He shall not know, but I hope some time to catch Brooks interfering +with your affairs. He has meddled with mine, but I can forgive that." + +Henry walked up and down the room when Mrs. Witherspoon and Ellen were +gone. With a mother's love, that gentle woman had found a mother's +place in his heart. He looked at the rocking-chair. Suddenly he seized +hold of the mantelpiece to steady himself. He had caught himself +seriously wondering if she had rocked him years ago. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE INVESTMENT. + + +It seemed to Henry that he had just dozed off to sleep when he was +startled by a loud knock at the door. + +"Henry, Henry!" It was Witherspoon's voice. + +"Yes." + +"Get up, quick! Old man Colton is murdered." + +When he went down-stairs he found the household in confusion. Every +one on the place had been aroused. The servants were whispering in the +hall. Witherspoon was waiting for him. + +"A messenger has just brought the news. Come, we must go over there. +The carriage is waiting." + +It was two o'clock. A fierce and cutting wind swept across the +lake--the icy breath of a dying year. Not a word was spoken as the +carriage sped along. At the door of Colton's home Witherspoon and +Henry were confronted by a policeman. + +"My orders are to let no one in," said the officer. + +"I am George Witherspoon." + +The policeman stepped aside. Brooks met them in the hall. He said +nothing, but took Witherspoon's hand. The place was thronged with +police officers and reporters. + +Adjoining Colton's sleeping-apartment, on the second floor, was a +small room with a window looking out on the back yard, and with one +door opening from the hall. In this room, let partly into the wall, +was an iron safe in which the old man kept "the little money" that he +had decided to invest in real estate. The window was protected by +upright iron bars. At night, a gas-jet, turned low, threw dismal +shadows about the room, and it was the old man's habit to light the +gas at bed-time and to turn it off the first thing at morning. He had +lighted the gas shortly after returning from Witherspoon's house and +had gone to bed, and it must have been about one o'clock when the +household was startled by the report of a pistol. Brooks and his wife, +whose room was on the same floor, ran into the old man's room. The +place was dark, but a bright light burned in the vault-room. Into this +room they ran, and there, lying on the floor, with money scattered +about him, was the old man, bloody and dead, with a bullet-hole in his +breast. But where was Mrs. Colton? They hastened back to her room and +struck a light. The old woman lay across the bed, unable to +move--paralyzed. + +The first discovery made by the police was that the iron bars at the +window, four in number, had been sawed in two; and then followed +another discovery of a more singular nature. In the window, caught by +the sudden fall of the sash, was a black frock coat. In one of the +tail pockets was a briar-root pipe. The sash had fallen while the +murderer was getting out, and, pulled against the sash, the pipe held +the garment fast. One sleeve was torn nearly off. In a side pocket was +found a letter addressed to Dave Kittymunks, general delivery, +Chicago, and post-marked Milwaukee. Under the window a ladder was +found. + +At the coroner's inquest, held the next day, one of the servants +testified that three days before, while the old man and Brooks were at +the store and while the ladies were out, a man with black whiskers, +and who wore a black coat, had called at the house and said that he +had been sent to search for sewer-gas. He had an order presumably +signed by Mr. Colton, and was accordingly shown through the house. He +had insisted upon going into the vault-room, declaring that he had +located the gas there, but was told that the room was always kept +locked. He then went away. The servant had not thought to tell Mr. +Colton. + +A general delivery clerk at the post-office testified that the letter +addressed to Dave Kittymunks had passed through his hands. The oddness +of the name had fastened it on his memory. He did not think that he +could identify the man who had received the letter, but he recalled +the black whiskers. The letter was apparently written by a woman, and +was signed "Lil." It was an urgent appeal for money. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +ARRESTED EVERYWHERE. + + +"Who is Dave Kittymunks?" was a question asked by the newspapers +throughout the country. Not the slightest trace of him could be found, +nor could "Lil" be discovered with any degree of certainty. But one +morning the public was fed to an increase of appetite by an article +that appeared in a Chicago newspaper. "Kittymunks came to Chicago +about five months ago," said the writer, "and for a time went under +the name of John Pruett. Fierce in his manner, threatening in his +talk, wearing a scowl, frowning at prattling children and muttering at +honest men, he repelled every one. Dissatisfied with his lot in life, +he refused, even for commensurate compensation, to perform that honest +labor which is the province of every true man, and like a hyena, he +prowled about growling at himself and despising fate. The writer met +him on several occasions and held out inducements that might lead to +conversation, but was persistently repulsed by him. He frowned upon +society, and set the grinding heel of his disapproval on every attempt +to draw him out. Was there some dark mystery connected with his life? +This question the writer asked himself. He execrated humanity; and, +moody and alone, the writer has seen him sitting on a bench on the +lake front, turning with a sullen look and viewing with suppressed +rage the architectural grandeur towering at his back." + +The article was written by Mr. Flummers. As the only reporter who +could write from contact with the murderer, his sentences were bloated +into strong significance. Fame reached down and snatched him up, and +the blue light of his flambeau played about him. + +"Pessimist as he is"--Flummers was holding forth among the night +reporters at the central station--"Pessimist as he is, and a skeptic +though he may be, papa goes through this life with his eyes open. Idle +suggestion says, 'Shut your eyes, papa, and be happy,' but shrewdness +says, 'Watch that fellow going along there.' I don't claim any +particular credit for this; we are not to be vain of what nature has +done for us, nor censured for what she has denied. We are all +children, toddling about as an experiment, and wondering what we are +going to be. Some of us fall and weep over our bruises, and some of +us--some of us get there. He, he, he." + +"Flummers, have they raised your salary yet?" some one asked. + +"Oh, no, and that's why I am disgusted with the newspaper profession. +The country cries out, 'Who is the man?' There is a deep silence. The +country cries again, 'Does any one know this man?' And then papa +speaks. But what does he get? The razzle. A great scoop rewarded with +a razzle. My achievements are taken too much us a matter of course. I +don't assert myself enough. I am too modest. Say, I smell liquor. +Who's got a bottle? Somebody took a cork out of a bottle. Who was it? +Say, Will, have you got a bottle?" + +"Thought you said that your doctor told you not to drink." + +"He did; he said that I had intercostal rheumatism. He examined me +carefully, and when I asked him what he thought, he replied, 'Mr. +Flummers, you can't afford to drink.'" + +"And did you tell him that you could afford it--that it didn't cost +you anything?" + +"Oh, ho, ho, no! Say, send out and get a bottle. What are you fellows +playing there? Ten cents ante, all jack pots? It's a robbers' game." + + * * * * * + +In every community a stranger wearing black whiskers was under +suspicion. A detective shrewdly suggested that the murderer might have +shaved, and he claimed great credit for this timely hint; but no +matter, the search for the black-whiskered man was continued. Dave +Kittymunks was arrested in all parts of the country, and the head-line +writer, whose humor could not long be held in subjection, began to +express himself thus: "Dave Kittymunks captured in St. Paul, also +seized in New Orleans, and is hotly pursued in the neighborhood of +Kansas City." + +Witherspoon, sitting by his library fire at night, would say over and +over again: "I told him never to keep any money in the house. He was +so close, so suspicious; and then to put his money in a safe that a +boy might have knocked to pieces!" And it became Mrs. Witherspoon's +habit to declare: "I just know that somebody will break into our house +next." Then the merchant's impatience would express itself with a +grunt. "Oh, it has given you and Ellen a rare chance for speculation. +We'd better wall ourselves in a cave and die there waiting for robbers +to drill their way in. It does seem to me that they ought to catch +that fellow, I told Brooks that he'd better increase the reward to +fifty thousand." + +Witherspoon and Brooks called at Henry's office. "You may publish the +fact that I have offered fifty thousand dollars reward for +Kittymunks," said Brooks, speaking to Henry, but looking into the room +where Miss Drury was at work. + +"That ought to be a great stimulus," Henry replied, "but it doesn't +appear to me that there has been any lack of effort." + +"No," said Witherspoon; "but the prospect of fifty thousand dollars +will make a strong effort stronger." + +"By the way," Henry remarked, "this is the first time you have visited +me in my work-room." + +Witherspoon replied: "Yes, that's so; and it strikes me that you might +get more comfortable quarters." + +"Comfortable enough for a workshop," Henry rejoined. + +"Yes, I presume so. Are you ready, Brooks?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"We have just come from police headquarters," said Witherspoon, "and +thought that we would stop and tell you of the increased reward. You +were late at dinner yesterday. Will you be on time this evening?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +When they were gone, Henry went into Miss Drury's room. "Was that your +father?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"And he scolded you for being late yesterday. If he had suspected that +I was the cause, I suppose he would have come in and stormed at me." + +"You were not the cause." + +"Yes, you were helping me with my work." + +"It was my work, too." He tilted a pile of newspapers off a chair, +sat down and said: "I feel at home with you." + +"Oh, am I so homely?" she asked, smiling. + +"Yes, restoring the word to its best meaning. By the way, you haven't +cut off your hair." + +"No, I forgot it, but I'm going to." + +"My sister Ellen has hair something like yours, but not so heavy and +not so bright." + +"I should like to see her." + +"Because she has hair like yours?" + +"What a question! No, because I am acquainted with her brother, of +course." + +"And when you become acquainted with a man do you want to meet his +sister?" + +"Oh, you are getting to be a regular tease, Mr. Witherspoon. After +awhile I shall be afraid to talk to you." + +"I hope the clock will refuse to record that time. You say that you +would like to see my sister. You shall see her; you must come home to +dinner with me." + +She gave him a quick look, a mere glance, the shortest sentence within +the range of human expression, but in that short sentence a full book +of meaning. One moment she was nothing but a resentment; but when she +looked up again the light in her eyes had been softened by that +half-sarcastic pity which a well-bred woman feels for the ignorance of +man. + +"Your sister has not called on me," she said. + +He replied: "I beg your pardon for overlooking the ceremonious +flirtation which women insist shall be indulged in, for I assure you +that their ways are sometimes a mystery to me; but I admit that the +commonest sort of sense should have kept me from falling into this +error. My sister shall call on you." + +"Pardon me, but she must not." + +"And may I ask why not?" + +"My aunt lives in a flat," she answered. + +"Suppose she does? What difference can that make?" + +"It makes this difference: Your sister couldn't conceal the air of a +patron, and I couldn't hide my resentment; therefore," she added with +a smile that brought back all her brightness, "to be friends we must +remain strangers." + +"But suppose I should call on you; would you regard it as a +patronage?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"Because you are a man." + +"You women are peculiar creatures." + +"An old idea always patly expressed," she replied. + +"But isn't it true?" + +"It must be, or it wouldn't have lived so long," she answered. + +"A pleasing sentiment," he replied, "but old age is not a mark of +truth, for nothing is grayer than falsehood." + +"But it finally dies, and truth lives on," she rejoined. + +"No, it is often buried." + +"So is a mummy buried, but it is brought to light again." + +"Yes, but it doesn't live; it is simply a mummy." + +"Oh, well," she said, "I know that you are wrong, but I won't worry +with it." + +John Richmond opened the door of Henry's room. "Come in," Henry +called, advancing to meet him. "How are you? And now that you are +here, make yourself at home." + +"All right," Richmond replied, sitting down, reaching out with his +foot and drawing a spittoon toward him. "How is everything running?" + +"First-rate." + +"You are getting out a good paper. I have just heard that the reward +for Kittymunks has been increased." + +"Yes, it was increased not more than an hour ago." + +"Who is to pay it?" + +"The State, you know, has offered a small reward; the Colossus Company +is to pay twenty thousand dollars, and the remainder will be paid by +the Colton estate." + +"Who constitutes the Colton estate?" + +"Brooks, mainly." + +Richmond put his hand to his mouth. "That's what I thought," said he. +"Do you know Brooks very well?" he asked after a short silence. + +"Not very." + +"What do you think of him?" + +"I despise him." + +"I thought so. As the French say, whom does it benefit?" + +They looked at each other, but said nothing. There could be no mistake +as to who was benefited. After a time Henry remarked: "I see that +Flummers has gone to Omaha to identify a suspect." + +"He did go, but I heard some of the boys say that he returned this +morning. Is your work all done for to-day?" + +"Yes, about all." + +"Suppose we go over to the club." + +"All right. Wait a moment." + +Henry stepped into Miss Drury's room. "You must; forgive me," he said, +in a low tone. + +"What for?" she asked, in surprise. + +"For so rudely inviting you to dinner when my sister had not even +called on you." + +"Oh, that's nothing," she replied, laughing. "Such mistakes are common +enough with men, I should think." + +"Not with sensible men. What have you here?" + +"Oh, some stupid paragraphs about women." + +"They'll keep till to-morrow." + +"But Mr. Mitchell said he wanted them to-day." + +"Tell him if he calls for them that I want them to-morrow. You'd +better go home and rest." + +"Rest? Why, I haven't done anything to make me tired." + +"Well, you don't know how soon you may be tired, and you'd better take +your rest in advance. All right, John," he said in a louder tone, "I'm +with you." + +When they entered the office of the Press Club, a forensic voice, +followed by laughter, bore to them the intelligence that Mr. Flummers +was in the front room, declaiming his recent adventures. They found +the orator measuredly stepping the short distance between this round +table and the post on which was fixed the button of the electric bell. +Led by fondness to believe that some one, moved to generosity, might +ask him to ring for the drinks, he showed a disposition to loiter +whenever he reached the post, and the light of eager expectancy and +the shadow of sore disappointment played a trick pantomime on his +countenance. + +"Oh, ho, ho, here come two of my staff. John, I have been talking for +an hour, and the bell is rusting from disuse." + +"Why don't you ring it on your own account?" + +"Oh, no; you can't expect one man to do everything." + +"Go on with your story." + +"But is there anything in it?" + +"If you mean your story, I don't think there's much in it." + +"If you cut it short enough," said Mortimer, "we'll all contribute." + +"There spoke a disgruntled Englishman," Flummers exclaimed. "Having no +humor himself, he scowls on the--the"--He scalloped the air, but it +failed to bring the right word. "Jim, you'd better confine yourself to +the writing of encyclopedias and not meddle with the buzz-saw of--of +sharp retort." + +"He appears to have made it that time," said Whittlesy. + +"Now, Whit, it may behoove some men to speak, but it doesn't behoove +you. Remember that I hold you in the hollow of my hand." + +"Let us have the story," said Henry. + +"But is the laborer worthy of his hire--is there anything in it?" + +"Yes, ring the bell." + +"That's the stuff." + +"Flummers," some one remarked, a few moments later, "I don't think +that I ever saw you drunk." + +Flummers tapped his forehead and replied: "The brain predominates the +jag. But I must gather up the flapping ends of my discourse. I will +begin again." + +"Are you going to repeat that dose of bloody rot?" Mortimer asked. + +"Jim, I pity you. I pity any man that can't see a point when it's held +under his nose." + +"Or smell one when it's held under his eye," someone suggested. + +"You fellows are pretty gay," said Flummers. "You must have drawn your +princely stipends this week." He hesitated a moment, pressed his hand +to his forehead, cut a fish-hook in the air and resumed his recital: + +"When I reached Omaha it was snowing. The heavens wore a feathery +frown." + +"He didn't fill," said Whittlesy. + +Flummers condemned him with a look and continued: "The wind whetted +itself to keenness on a bleak knob and came down to shave its unhappy +customers." + +"He made his flush," said Whittlesy. + +Flummers did not look at him. "I went immediately to the jail, where +one of the rank and file of the Kittymunkses was confined; and say, +you ought to have seen the poor, miserable, bug-bitten wretch they +stood up in front of me. He wore about a half-pint of dirty whiskers, +and in his make-up he reminded me of a scare-crow that brother and I +once made to put out on the farm in Wisconsin. I have seen a number of +Kittymunkses, but he was the worst. I said, 'Say, why don't you wash +yourself?' and the horrible suggestion made him shudder. 'Is this the +man?' the sheriff asked. 'Gentlemen,' I replied, disdaining the +sheriff, 'on the first train that pulls out I am going back to +Chicago; and whenever you catch another baboon that has worn himself +threadbare by sitting around your village, telegraph me and I will +come and tell you to turn him loose.' 'Then he is not the man?' said +the sheriff, giving me a look that told of deep official +disappointment. 'Gentlemen,' I replied, still disdaining the sheriff, +'I never saw this poor wretch before. Tra la.' I met one gentleman in +the town. I think he belonged to the sporting fraternity. He said, +'Will you have something?' and we went into a place kept by a retired +prize-fighter. My friend pointed to a noisy party at the rear end of +the room, and said: 'The city authorities.' 'Should they live?' I +asked, and my friend said, 'They should not.' And then papa was in +town. 'Make me a sufficient inducement,' said I, 'and I will take a +position on one of your newspapers and kill them off. One of my +specialties is the killing of city authorities. Nature has intended +them for my meat. I have killed mayors in nearly every place that is +worthy of the name of municipality; and between the ordinary city +official and papa,' I added, 'there is about as much affinity as there +is between a case of hydrophobia and a limpid trout stream trickling +its way through the woods of my native Wisconsin.' Say, do you know +what he did? He eyed me suspiciously and edged off toward the door. +Oh, it is painful to stand by helplessly and see fate constantly +casting my lot among jays." + +"Mr. Flummers, do you think that you would recognize Kittymunks if you +were to see him?" Henry asked. + +"Sure thing. Papa's friends may deceive him, but his eyes, backed by +his judgment, never do. Say, I'm getting up a great scheme, and pretty +soon I'm going to travel through the country with it. I'm going to +organize an investment company for country merchants. I've already got +about fifteen thousand dollars' worth of stock ready to issue. Has +everybody been to lunch? I have been so busy that I haven't eaten +anything since early this morning. Joe, lend me fifty cents." + +"And take a mortgage on your investment company?" + +"Oh, ho, ho, that's a good thing. The other day one of your so-called +literary men said that he would give me two dollars an hour to write +for him from dictation. 'Ha, I've struck a soft thing,' thinks I, and +I goes to his den with him. Well, when I had worked about half an +hour, taking down his guff, he turns to me and says, 'Say, lend me a +dollar.' 'I haven't got but forty cents,' I replied. But he didn't +weaken. 'Well, let me have that,' says he. 'You've got job and I +haven't, you know.' And he robbed me. I've got to go out now and see a +business jay from Peoria. With my newspaper work and my side +speculations I'm kept pretty busy. Joe, where's that fifty?" + +"Gave it to you a moment ago." + +"All right. Say, will you fellows be here when I come back?" + +"Not if we can get out," Whittlesy replied. + +"Oh, you've bobbed up again, have you? But remember that papa holds +you in the hollow of his hand." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +CRIED A SENSATION. + + +In Chicago was a sheet--it could not be called a newspaper and +assuredly was not a publication--that was rarely seen until late at +night, and which always appeared to have been smuggled across the +border-line of darkness into the light of the street lamps. Ragged +boys, carrying this sheet, hung about the theaters and cried a +sensation when the play was done. Their aim was to catch strangers, +and to turn fiercely upon their importunity was not so effective as +simply to say, "I live here." + +One night, as Henry and Ellen came out of a theater, they heard these +ragged boys shouting the names of Witherspoon and Brooks. + +"Gracious," said Ellen, with sudden weight on Henry's arm, "what does +that mean?" + +"It's nothing but a fake," he answered. + +"But get a paper and see; won't you?" + +"Yes, as soon as I can." + +They were so crowd-pressed that it was some time before they could +reach one of the boys; and when they did, Ellen snatched a paper and +attempted to read it by the light of the carriage lamp. + +"Wait until we get home," he said. "I tell you it amounts to nothing." + +"No, we will go to a restaurant," she replied. + +The sensation was a half column of frightening head on a few inches of +smeared body. It declared that recent developments pointed to the fact +that Witherspoon and Brooks knew more concerning the whereabouts of +Dave Kittymunks than either of them cared to tell. It was known that +old Colton's extreme conservatism had been regarded as an obstruction, +and that while they might not actually have figured in the murder, yet +they were known to be pleased at the result, that the large reward was +all a "bluff," and that it was to their interest to aid the escape of +Kittymunks. + +Before breakfast the next morning Brooks was at Witherspoon's house. A +"friend" had called his attention to the article. Had it appeared in +one of the reputable journals instead of in this fly-by-night smircher +of the characters of men, a suit for criminal libel would have been +brought, but to give countenance to this slander was to circulate it; +and therefore the two men were resolved not to permit the infamy to +place them under the contribution of a moment's worry. + +"The character of a successful man is a target to be shot at by the +envious," said Witherspoon. He was pacing the room, and anger had +hardened his step. "A target to be shot at," he repeated, "and the +shots are free." + +"I didn't know what to do," Brooks replied. He stood on the hearth-rug +with his hands behind him. "I was so worried that I couldn't sleep +after I saw the thing late last night; and my wife was crying when I +left home." + +"Infamous scoundrels!" Witherspoon muttered. + +"I didn't think anything could be done," Brooke continued, "but I +thought it best to see you at once." + +"Of course," said Witherspoon. + +"But, after all, don't you think we ought to have those wretches +locked up?" Brooke asked. + +"Yes," Witherspoon answered, "and we ought to have them hanged, but we +might as well set out to look for Kittymunks. Ten chances to one they +are not here at all; the thing might have been printed in a town three +hundred miles from here." + +"Yes, that's so," Brooks admitted; and addressing Henry, who stood at +a window, gazing out, he added: "What do you think about it?" + +Henry did not heed the question, so forgetfully was he gazing, and +Brooks repeated it. + +"If you have decided not to worry," Henry answered, "it is better not +to trouble yourselves at all. I doubt whether you could ever find the +publishers of the paper." + +"You are right," Brooks agreed. + +"Character used to be regarded as something at least half way sacred," +said Witherspoon, "but now, like an old plug hat, it is kicked about +the streets. And yet we boast of our freedom. Freedom, indeed! So +would it be freedom to sit at a window and shoot men as they pass. I +swear to God that I never had as much trouble and worry as I've had +lately. _Everything_ goes wrong. What about Jordway & Co., of Aurora?" + +"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Brooks answered. "Jordway has killed +himself, and the affairs of the firm are in a hopeless tangle." + +"Of coarse," Witherspoon replied, "and we'll never get a cent." + +"I'm afraid not, sir. I cautioned you against them, you remember." + +"Never saw anything like it," Witherspoon declared, not recalling the +caution that Brooks had advised, or not caring to acknowledge it. + +"Oh, everything may come out all right. Pardon me, Mr. Witherspoon, +but I think you need rest" + +"There is no rest," Witherspoon replied. + +"And yet," said Henry, turning from the window, "you took me to task +for saying that I sometimes felt there was nothing in the entire +scheme of life." + +"For saying it at your age, yes. You have but just begun to try life +and have no right to condemn it." + +"I didn't condemn it without a hearing. Isn't there something wrong +when the poor are wretched and the rich are miserable?" + +"Nonsense," said Witherspoon. + +"Oh, but that's no argument." + +"Isn't it? Well, then there shall be none." + +"I must be getting back," said Brooks. + +"Won't you stay to breakfast?" Witherspoon asked. "It will be ready in +a few minutes. Hum"--looking at his watch--"ought to have been ready +long ago. Everything goes wrong. Can't even get anything to eat. I'll +swear I never saw the like." + +"I'm much obliged, but I can't stay," Brooks answered. + +"Well, I suppose I shall be down to the store some time to-day. If +anybody calls to see me, just say that I am at home, standing round +begging for something to eat. Good morning." + +Henry laughed, and the merchant gave him a strained look. For a moment +the millionaire bore a striking likeness to old Andrew, at the time +when he declared that the devil had gone wrong. The young man sought +to soothe him when Brooks was gone; he apologized for laughing; he +said that he keenly felt that there was cause for worry, but that the +picture of a Chicago merchant standing about at home begging for his +breakfast, while important business awaited him at the store, was +enough to crack the thickest crust of solemnity. The merchant's +dignity was soon brought back; never was it far beyond his reach. At +breakfast he was severe with silence. + +Over and over again during the day Henry repeated Richmond's words, +"Whom does it benefit" and these words went to bed with him, and as +though restless, they turned and tossed themselves upon his mind +throughout the night, and like children, they clamored to be taken up +at early morning, to be dressed in the many colors of supposition. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +A HELPLESS OLD WOMAN. + + +In Kansas City was arrested a suspicious-looking man, who, upon being +taken to jail, confessed that his name was Dare Kittymunks and owned +that he had killed old man Colton. Thus was ended the search for the +murderer, the newspapers said, and the vigilance of the Kansas City +police was praised. But it soon transpired that the prisoner had been +a street preacher in Topeka at the time when the murder was committed, +that he had on that day created a sensation by announcing himself John +the Baptist and swearing that all other Johns the Baptist were base +impostors. The fellow was taken to an asylum for the insane, and the +search for Dave Kittymunks was resumed. + +Old Mrs. Colton had not moved a muscle since the night of the murder. +She lay looking straight at the ceiling, and in her eyes was an +expression that seemed constantly to repeat, "My body is dead, but my +mind is alive." Once every week the pastor of her church came to see +her. He was an old man, threatened with palsy, and had long ago ceased +to find pleasure in the appetites and vanities of this life. He came +on Sunday, just before the time for evening services in the church, +and kneeling at the old woman's chair, which he placed near her +bedside, lifted his shaking voice in prayer. It was a touching sight, +one infirmity pleading for another, palsy praying for paralysis; but +upon these devotions Brooks began to look with a frown. + +"What is the use of it?" he asked, speaking to his wife. "If a +celebrated specialist can't do her any good, I know that an old man's +prayer can't." + +"We ought not to deny her anything," the wife answered. + +"And we ought not to inflict her with anything," the husband replied. + +"Prayer was never an infliction to her." + +"But this old man's praying is an infliction to the rest of us." + +"Not to me; and you needn't hear him." + +"I can't help it if I'm at home." + +"But you needn't be at home when he comes." + +"Oh, I suppose I could go over and stand on the lake shore, but it +would be rather unpleasant this time of year." + +"There are other places you can go." + +"Oh, I suppose so. Doesn't make any difference to you, of course, +where I go." + +"Not much," she answered. + +The Witherspoon family was gathered one evening in the mother's room. +It was Mrs. Witherspoon's birthday, and it was a home-like picture, +this family group, with the mother sitting in a rocking-chair, fondly +looking about and giving the placid heed of love to Henry whenever he +spoke. On the walls were hung the portraits of early Puritans, the +brave and rugged ancestors of Uncle Louis and Uncle Harvey, and all +her mother's people, who were dark. + +Ellen had been imitating a Miss Miller, who, it was said, was making a +determined set at Henry, and Witherspoon was laughing at the aptness +of his daughter's mimicry. + +"I must confess," said Mrs. Witherspoon, slowly rocking herself, "that +I don't see anything to laugh at. Miss Miller is an exceedingly nice +girl, I'm sure, but I don't think she is at all suited to my son. She +giggles at everything, and Henry is too sober-minded for that sort of +a wife." + +"But marriage would probably cure her giggling," Witherspoon replied, +slyly winking at Henry. "To a certain kind of a girl there is nothing +that so inspires a giggle as the prospect of marriage, but marriage +itself is the greatest of all soberers--it sometimes removes all +traces of the previous intoxication." + +"Now, George, what is the use of talking that way?" She rarely called +him George. "You know as well as you know anything that I didn't +giggle. Of course I was lively enough, but I didn't go about giggling +as Miss Miller does." + +"Oh, perhaps not exactly as Miss Miller does, but"-- + +"George!" + +"I say you didn't. But anybody can see that Ellen is a sensible girl, +and yet she giggles." + +"Not at the prospect of marriage, papa," the girl replied. "To look at +Mr. Brooks and his wife is quite enough to make me serious." + +"Brooks and his wife? What do you mean?" + +"Perhaps I oughtn't to have said anything, but they appear to make +each other miserable. There, now, I wish I _hadn't_ said anything. I +might have known that it would make you look glum." + +"How do you know that they make each other miserable?" + +"I know this, that when they should be on their good behavior they +can't keep from snapping at each other. I was over there this +afternoon, and when Mr. Brooks came home he began to growl about the +preacher's coming once a week to pray for Mrs. Colton. He ought to be +ashamed of himself. The poor old creature lies there so helpless; and +he wants to deny her even the consolation of hearing her pastor's +voice. And he knows that she was so devoted to the church." + +"My daughter," Witherspoon gravely said, "there must be some mistake +about this." + +"But I know that there isn't any mistake about it. I was there, I tell +you." + +"And still there may be some mistake," Witherspoon insisted. + +"What doctor's treating the old lady?" Henry asked. + +"A celebrated specialist, Brooks tells me," Witherspoon answered. + +"What's his name?" + +"I don't remember," said Witherspoon. "Do you know, Ellen?" + +"Doctor Linmarck," Ellen answered. + +"Let us not think of anything so very unpleasant," said Mrs. +Witherspoon. + +But the spirit of pleasantry was flown. With another imitation of Miss +Miller, Ellen strove to call it back, but failed, for Witherspoon paid +no attention to her. He sat brooding, with a countenance as fixed as +the expression of a mask, and in his gaze, bent on that nothing +through which nothing can be seen, there was no light. + +"Father, do your new slippers fit?" Mrs. Witherspoon asked. He was not +George now. + +"Very nicely," he answered, with a warning absentmindedness. +Presently he went to the library, and shutting out the amenities of +that cheerful evening, shut in his own somber brooding. + +"I don't see why he should let that worry him so," said Mrs. +Witherspoon. "He's getting to be so sensitive over Brooks." + +"I don't think it's his sensitiveness over Brooks, mother," Ellen +replied, "but the fact that he is gradually finding out that Brooks is +not so perfect as he pretends to be." + +"I don't know," the mother rejoined, "but I think he has just as much +confidence in Brooks as he ever had. I know he said last night that +the Colossus couldn't get along without him." + +"Ellen," said Henry, "what is the name of that doctor?" + +"Linmarck. It isn't so hard to remember, is it?" + +"No, but I forgot it." + +Immediately after reaching the office the next day, Henry sent for a +reporter who had lived so long in Chicago that he was supposed +thoroughly to know the city. + +"Are you acquainted with Doctor Linmarck?" Henry asked when the +reporter entered the room. + +"Linmarck? Let me see. No, don't think I am." + +"Did you ever hear of him?" + +"What's his particular line?" + +"Paralysis, I think." + +"No, I've never heard of him." + +"Well, find out all you can about him and let me know as soon as +possible. And say," he added as the reporter turned to go, "don't say +a word about it." + +"All right." + +Several hours later the reporter returned. "Did you learn anything?" +Henry asked. + +"Yes, about all there is to learn, I suppose. He has an office on +Wabash Avenue, near Twelfth Street. I called on him." + +"Does he look like a great specialist?" + +"Well, his beard is hardly long enough for a great specialist." + +"But does he appear to be prosperous?" + +"His location stands against that supposition." + +"But does he strike you as being an impostor?" + +"Well, not exactly that; but I shouldn't like to be paralyzed merely +to give him a chance to try his hand on me. I told him that I had +considerable trouble with my left arm, and he asked if I had ever been +afflicted with rheumatism, or if I had ever been stricken with typhoid +fever, or--I don't remember how many diseases he tried on suspicion. I +told him that so far as I knew I had been in excellent health, and +then he began to ask me about my parents. I told him that they were +dead and that I didn't care to be treated for any disease that they +might have had. I asked him where he was from, and he said +Philadelphia. He hasn't been here long, but is treating some very +prominent people, he says. There may be a reason why he should be +employed, but I failed to find it." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +TO GO ON A VISIT. + + +A month must have passed since Henry had sought to investigate the +standing of Dr. Linmarck, when, one evening, Ellen astonished her +father with the news that old Mrs. Colton was to be taken on a visit +to her sister, who lived in New Jersey. The sister had written an +urgent letter to Mrs. Brooks, begging that the old lady might +straightway be sent to her, and offering to relieve Mr. Brooks of all +the trouble and responsibility that might be incurred by the journey. +She would send her son and her family physician. Witherspoon grunted +at so absurd a request and was surprised that Brooks should grant it. +The old woman might die on the train, and besides, what possible +pleasure could she extract from such a visit? It was nonsense. + +"But suppose the poor old creature wants to go?" said Mrs. +Witherspoon. + +"Ah, but how is any one to know whether she does or not?" + +"Of course no one can tell what she thinks, but it is reasonable to +suppose that she would like to see her sister." + +"Oh, yes, it is reasonable to suppose almost anything when you start +out on that line; but it's not common sense to act upon almost any +supposition. Of course, the old lady can live but a short time, and I +think that if she were given her own choice she would prefer to die in +her own bed. I shall advise Brooks not to let her go." + +"I hope you'll not do that," said Henry, and he spoke with an +eagerness that caused the merchant to give him a look of sharp +inquiry. "I hope that you'll not seek to deprive the sister, who I +presume is a very old woman, of the pleasure of sheltering one so +closely related to her. The trip may be fatal, and yet it might be a +benefit. At any rate don't advise Brooks not to let her go." + +"Oh, it's nothing to me," Witherspoon replied, "and I didn't suppose +that it was so much to the rest of you. How I do miss that old man!" +he added after musing for a few moments. "The peculiar laugh he had +when pleased became a very distressing cough whenever he fancied that +his expenses were running too high, and every day I am startled by +some noise that sounds like his hack, hack! And just as frequently I +hear his good-humored ha, ha! He had never gone away during the +summer, but he told me that this summer he was going to a +watering-place and enjoy himself. 'And, Witherspoon,' he said, 'I'm +going to spend money right and left.' Picture that old man spending +money either right or left. He would have backed out when the time +came. Some demand would have kept him at home." + +"His will leaves everything to his wife, I believe," Henry remarked. + +"Yes, with the proviso that at her death it is to go to Mrs. Brooks. +Brooks has already taken Colton's place in the store, and now the +question is, Who can fill Brooks' place?" + +"I don't think you will have any trouble in filling it," Henry +replied. "No matter who drops out, the affairs of this life go +on just the same. A man becomes so identified with a business +that people think it couldn't be run without him. He dies, and the +business--improves." + +"Yes, it appears so," Witherspoon admitted; "but what I wanted to get +at, coming straight to the point, is this: I need you now more than +ever before. One of the penalties of wealth is that a rich man is +forced constantly to fumble about in the dark, feeling for some one +whose touch may inspire confidence. That's the position I'm in." + +"You make a strong appeal," said Henry, "far stronger than any +personal advantages you could point out to me." + +"But is it strong enough to move you?" + +"It might be strong enough to move me to a sacrifice of myself, and +still fail to draw me into a willingness to risk the opinion you have +expressed of what you term my manliness. As a business man I know that +I should be a failure, and then I'd have your pity instead of your +good opinion. Let me tell you that I am a very ordinary man. I haven't +the quickness which is a business man's enterprise, nor that judgment +which is his safeguard. My newspaper is a success, but it is mainly +because I have a capable man in the business office. It grieves me to +disappoint you, and I will take an oath that if I felt myself capable +I'd cheerfully give up journalism and place myself at your service." + +"Father," said Mrs. Witherspoon--and anxiously she had been watching +her husband--"I don't see what more he could say." + +"He has said quite enough," Witherspoon replied. + +"But you are not angry, are you, papa?" Ellen asked. + +"No, I'm hurt." + +"I'm very sorry," said Henry, "but permit me to say that a man of your +strength of mind shouldn't be hurt by a present disappointment that +may serve to prevent a possible calamity in the future." + +"High-sounding nonsense. I could pick up almost any bootblack and make +a good business man of him." + +"But you can't pick up almost any boy and make a good bootblack of +him. The bootblack is already a business man in embryo." + +Witherspoon did not reply to this statement. He mused for a few +moments and then remarked: "If it weren't too late we might make a +preacher of you." + +Mrs. Witherspoon's countenance brightened. "I am sure he would make a +good one," she said. "My grandfather was a minister, and we have a +book of his sermons now, somewhere. If you want it, my son, I will get +it for you." + +"Not to-night, mother." + +"I didn't mean to-night. Ellen, what _are_ you giggling at?" + +"Why, mother, he would rather smoke that old black pipe than to read +any book that was ever printed." + +"When I saw the pipe that had robbed Kittymunks of his coat," said +Henry, "I thought of my pipe tied with a ribbon." + +During the remainder of the evening Witherspoon joined not in the +conversation, he sat brooding, and when bed-time came, he stood in his +accustomed place on the hearth-rug and wound his watch, still +appearing to gaze at something far away. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +HENRY'S INCONSISTENCY. + + +Snorting March came as if blown in off the icy lake, and oozy April +fell from the clouds. How weary we grow of winter in a cold land, and +how loath is winter to permit the coming of spring! May stole in from +the south. There came a warm rain, and the next morning strips of +green were stretched along the boulevards. + +Nature had unrolled double widths of carpet during the night, and at +sunset a yellow button lay where the ground had been harsh so long--a +dandelion. An old man, in whom this blithe air stirred a recollection +of an amative past, sat on a bench in the park, watching the +flirtations of thrill-blooded youth, and pale mothers, housed so long +with fretful children, turned loose their cares upon the grass. It was +a lolling-time, a time to lose one's self in the blue above, or +sweetly muse over the green below. + +One night a hot wind came, and the nest morning was summer. The horse +that had drawn coal during the winter, now hitched to an ice wagon, +died in the street. The pavements throbbed, the basement restaurants +exhaled a sickening air, and through the grating was blown the +cellar's cool and mouldy breath; and the sanitary writer on the +editorial page cried out: "Boil your drinking-water!" + +It was Witherspoon's custom, during the heated term, to take his wife +and his daughter to the seaside, and to return when the weather there +became insufferably hot. It was supposed that Henry would go, but when +the time came he declared that he had in view a piece of work that +most not be neglected. Witherspoon recognized the urgency of no work +except his own. "What, you can't go!" he exclaimed. "What do you mean +by 'can't go'?" + +"I mean simply that it is not convenient for me to get away at this +time." + +"And is it your scheme now to act entirely upon your own convenience? +Can't you sometimes pull far enough away from yourself to forget your +own convenience?" + +"Oh, yes, but I can't very well forget that on this occasion it is +almost impossible for me to get away. Of course you don't understand +this, and I am afraid that if I should try I couldn't make it very +clear to you." + +"Oh, you needn't make any explanation to me, I assure you. I had +planned an enjoyment for your mother and sister, and if you desire to +interfere with it, I have nothing more to say." + +"I have no business that shall interfere with their enjoyment," Henry +replied. "I'm ready to go at any time." + +The next day Witherspoon said: "Henry, if you have decided to go, +there is no use of my leaving home." + +"Now there's no need of all this sacrifice," Mrs. Witherspoon +protested, "for the truth is I don't want to go anyway. During the hot +weather I am never so comfortable anywhere as I am at home. My son, +you shall not go on my account; and as for Ellen, she can go with +some of our friends. But, father, I do think that you need rest." + +"Very true," he admitted, "but unfortunately we can't drop a worry and +run away from it." + +"But what is worrying you now?" + +"_Everything_. Nothing goes on as it should, and every day it seems +that a new annoyance takes hold of me." + +"In your time you have advised many a man to be sensible," said Henry, +"and now if you please, permit a man who has never been very sensible +to advise you." Witherspoon looked at him. "My advice is, be +sensible." + +In a fretful resentment Witherspoon jerked his shoulder as if with +muscular force he sought a befitting reply, but he said nothing and +Henry continued: "This may be impudence on my part, but in impudence +there may lie a good intention and a piece of advice that may not be +bad. The worry of a strong man is a sign of danger. The truth is that +if you keep on this way you'll break down." + +"None of you know what you are talking about," Witherspoon declared. +"I'm as strong as I ever was. I'm simply annoyed, that's all." + +"Why don't you see the doctor?" his wife asked. + +"What do I want to see him for? What does he know about it? Don't you +worry. I'm all right." + +His fretfulness was not continuous. Sometimes his spirits rose to +exceeding liveliness, and then he laughed at the young man and joked +him about Miss Miller. But a single word, however lightly spoken, +served to turn him back to peevishness. One evening Henry remarked +that he was compelled to leave town on the day following and that he +might be absent nearly a week. + +"Why, how is this?" Witherspoon asked, with a sudden change of manner. +"The other day you almost swore that it was impossible for you to +leave home, and now you are compelled to go. What do you mean?" + +"I have business out of town, and it demands my attention." + +"_Business_ out of town. The other day you despised business; now +you've got business out of town. I'll take an oath right now that you +are the strangest mortal I ever struck." + +"I admit the appearance of inconsistency," Henry replied. + +"And I _know_ the existence of it," Witherspoon rejoined. + +"You think so. The truth is that the affair I now have on hand had +something to do with my objecting to leave town last week." + +"Why don't you tell me what it is?" + +"I will when the time is ripe." + +The merchant grunted. "Is it a love affair?" + +Mrs. Witherspoon became newly concerned. "In one sense, yes," Henry +answered. "It is the love of justice." + +Witherspoon called his wife's attention by clearing his throat. +"Madam, I may be wrong, but it strikes me that your son is crazy. Good +night." + +Henry left town the next morning. He went to New Jersey. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +WORE A ROSE ON HIS COAT. + + +Henry was absent nearly a week, and upon returning he did not refer to +the business that had so peremptorily called him away. Mrs. +Witherspoon still had a fear that it might be a love affair, and Ellen +had a fear that it might not be. To keep the young woman's interest +alive a mystery was necessary, and to free the mother's love from +anxiety unrestrained frankness was essential. And so there was not +enough of mystery to thrill the girl nor enough of frankness to +satisfy the mother. In this way a week was passed. + +"I don't see why you make so much of it," Witherspoon said to his +wife. "Is there anything so strange in a young man's leaving town? Do +you expect him to remain forever within calling distance? He told you +that you should know in due time. What more can you ask? You are +foolishly worried over him, and what is there to worry about?" + +"I suppose I am," she answered, "but I'm so much afraid that he'll +marry some girl that I shall not like." + +"It's not only that, Caroline. You are simply afraid that he will +marry some girl. The fear of not liking her is a secondary anxiety." + +"But, father, you know"-- + +"Oh, yes, I know. But he is a man--presumably," he added to +himself--"and your love cannot make him a child. It is true that we +were robbed of the pleasure his infancy would have afforded us, but +it's not true that there now exists any way by which that lost +pleasure can be supplied. As for myself, I regret the necessity that +compels me to say that he is far from being a comfort to me. What has +he brought me? Nothing but an additional cause for worry." + +"Father, don't say that!" + +"But I am compelled to say it. I have pointed out a career to him and +he simply bats his eyes at it. He is the most peculiar creature I ever +saw. Oh, I know he has gone through enough to make him peculiar; I +know all about that, but I don't see the sense of keeping up that +peculiarity. He is aimless, and he doesn't want an aim urged upon +him." + +"But, father, he has made his newspaper a success." + +"Ah, but what does it amount to? Within ten years he might make a +hundred thousand dollars out of it, but"-- + +"Oh, surely more than that," she insisted. + +"Well, suppose he does make more than that; say that he may make two +hundred thousand. And even then what does it amount to in comparison +with what I offer?" + +"But you know he wants to be independent." + +"Independent!" he repeated. "I'll swear I don't understand that sort +of independence." + +"Well," she said, with a consoling sigh, "it will come out all right +after a while." + +They were sitting in Mrs. Witherspoon's room. The footman announced +that Mr. Brooks was waiting in the library. Witherspoon frowned. + +"You needn't see him, dear," said his wife. + +"Yes, I will. But I am tired and don't care to discuss business +affairs. Of late he brings nothing but bad news." + +The manager was exquisitely dressed and wore a rose on the lapel of +his coat. "I am on my way to an entertainment at the Yacht Club," said +he, when the merchant entered the library, "and I thought I'd drop in +for a few moments." + +"I'm glad you did," Witherspoon replied. "Sit down." + +"I haven't long to stay," said Brooks, seating himself. "I am on one +of the committees and must be getting over. Is your son going?" + +"I don't know. He hasn't come home yet." + +"He was invited," said Brooks. + +"That doesn't make any difference," Witherspoon replied. "He appears +to pay but little attention to invitations, or to anything else, for +that matter. Spends the most of his time at the Press Club, I think." + +"That's singular." + +"Very," said Witherspoon. + +"I was there the evening they gave a reception to Patti, some time +ago," Brooke remarked, "but I didn't see anything so very attractive +about the place." + +"I suppose not," Witherspoon replied, and then he added: "That's Henry +now, I think." + +Henry came in and was apparently surprised to see Brooks. "I have been +detained on account of business," he remarked as he sat down. Brooks +smiled. Evidently he knew what was passing in Witherspoon's mind. + +"My affairs may be light to some people," Henry said, "but they are +heavy enough to me." + +By looking serious Brooks sought to mollify the effect of his smile. +He had not taken the time to think that in his sly currying of +Witherspoon's favor he might be discovered, but now that he was caught +he fell back upon the recourse of a bungling compliment. "Oh, I'm +sure," said he, "that your business is most important. Your paper +shows the care and ability with which you preside over it. I think +it's the best paper in town, and advertisers tell me that they get +excellent returns from it." Here he caught Witherspoon's eye and +hastened to add: "Still, I believe that your place is with us in the +store. You could soon make yourself master of every detail." + +"But we will not talk about that now," Witherspoon spoke up. + +"Of course not; but I merely mentioned it to show my belief in your +son's abilities." + +The footman appeared at the door. "Two gentlemen wish to see Mr. +Brooks." + +"Who are they?" Witherspoon asked. + +"Wouldn't give me their names, sir." + +"Some of the boys from the club," said Brooks. "Well, I must bid you +good evening." + +"There was something I wanted to say to you," the merchant remarked, +walking down the hall with him. + +Henry did not get up, but he listened eagerly. Presently he heard +Witherspoon exclaim: "Great God!" And a moment later the merchant came +rushing back. + +"Where is my hat?" he cried. "Henry, Brooks is arrested on a charge of +murdering Colton! Where is my hat?" + +Henry got up, placed his hand on Witherspoon's shoulder, and said: +"Sit down here, father." + +"Sit down the devil!" he raved. "I tell you that Brooks has been +arrested. I am going down-town." + +"Not to-night. Sit down here." + +"What do you mean, sir!" + +"I mean that you must not go down-town. You can do no good by going, +Brooks is guilty. There is no doubt about it." + +The old man dropped in his chair. Mrs. Witherspoon came running into +the room. "What on earth is the matter?" she cried. Witherspoon +struggled to his feet. Henry caught him by the arm. "Mother, don't be +alarmed. Brooks has simply been arrested." + +"For the murder of Colton!" Witherspoon hoarsely whispered. His voice +had failed him. + +"Sit down, mother, and we will talk quietly about it. There is no +cause for excitement when you make up your minds that the fellow is +guilty, which you must do, for Mrs. Colton has made a statement--she +saw Brooks kill the old man." + +Witherspoon dropped in his chair. His hands hung listlessly beside +him. Mrs. Witherspoon ran to him. + +"Father!" + +He lifted his hand, a heavy weight it seemed, and motioned her away. +"The Colossus is ruined!" he hoarsely whispered. "Ruined. They'll try +to mix me up in it. Ruined!" + +"You can't be mixed up in it, and the Colossus will not be ruined," +Henry replied. + +"Yes, ruined. You haven't brought me anything but bad luck." + +"I have brought you the best luck of your life. I have helped you to +get rid of a vampire." + +"You have?" He turned his lusterless eyes upon Henry. + +"Yes, I have, and if you will be patient for a few moments I will make +it plain to you. But wait, you must not think of going down-town +to-night. Will you listen to me?" + +"Yes." + +"I was not the only one who suspected that Brooks had something to do +with the murder. Many people, in fact--it seemed that almost everybody +placed him under suspicion. But there was no evidence against him; +there was nothing but a strong supposition. You remember one evening +not long ago when Ellen said that he objected to the preacher's coming +to pray for Mrs. Colton. This was enough to stamp him a brute. Give +that sort of a man the nerve and he won't stop short of any cruelty or +any crime." + +"Are you going to tell me something or do you simply intend to +preach?" Witherspoon asked. His voice had returned. + +"Father, he's telling you as fast as he can." + +"And I must tell it my own way," Henry said. "That same evening I +learned the name of the doctor--the great specialist employed by +Brooks to treat the old lady. But I inquired about him and found that +he was simply a cheap quack. This was additional cause for suspicion. +I called on a detective and told him that I suspected Brooks. At this +he smiled. Then I said that if he would agree to give half the reward +to any charity that I might name, in the event of success, I would +submit my plan, and then he became serious. I convinced him that I had +not only a plausible but a direct clue, and he agreed to my proposal. +I then told him about the doctor; I expressed my belief that the old +woman must know something and urged that this might be brought out if +we could get her away and place her under the proper treatment. Well, +we learned that she had a sister living in New Jersey. The detective +went to see her, and you know the result--the old lady's removal. +Recently we received word that she was so much improved that she could +mumble in a way to be understood, and last week the detective and I +went to see her. This was my apparently inconsistent business out of +town." + +"But tell us what she said," Witherspoon demanded. + +"Her deposition is in the hands of the law." He said this with a sly +pleasure--Witherspoon had so often spoken of the law as if it were his +agent. "I can simply tell you," Henry continued, "that she saw Brooks +when he shot the old man." + +"But how can that be? Brooks and his wife ran into the room at the +same time. They were together." + +"Yes, they ran into the room together, and Brooks had presumably just +jumped out of bed. But be that as it may, Mrs. Colton saw him when he +shot the old man. And if he is guilty, why should you defend him?" + +Witherspoon got up. "You are not going down-town, father," his wife +pleaded. "George, you must not go!" + +"I'm not going, Caroline." He began to walk up and down the room, but +not with his wonted firmness of step. They said nothing to him; they +let him walk in his troubled silence. Turning suddenly he would +sometimes confront Henry and seem about to denounce him; and then he +was strong. But the next moment, and as if weakened by an +instantaneous failure of vital forces, he would helplessly turn to his +wife as though she could give him strength. + +"Don't let it worry you so, father," she begged of him; "don't let it +worry you so. It will come out all right. Nobody can fasten any blame +on you." + +"Yes, they will--yes, they will, the wretches. They hate me; they +bleed me every chance they get, and now they want to humble me--ruin +me. Nobody can ever know what I have gone through. Defend him!" he +exclaimed. "I hope they will hang him. I suspected him, and yet I was +afraid to, for in some way it seemed to involve me--I don't know how. +But I knew that the wretches would fix it up and ruin the Colossus. +For weeks and weeks it has been gnawing me like a rat. But what could +I do? I was afraid to discharge him. He's got a running tongue. But +what have I done?" he violently asked himself. "He took Colton's +place--held Colton's interest. I could do nothing. Sometimes I felt +that he was surely innocent. But I fancied that I could hear +mutterings whenever I passed people in the street, and the rat would +begin its gnawing again. He will drag us all down." His voice failed +him, and he sank in his chair. "Ruined! The Colossus is ruined!" he +hoarsely whispered. + +"If you would stop to think," said Henry, "you would know that your +trouble is mostly physical. Your nerves are unstrung. The public is +not so willing to believe any story that Brooks may tell. The Colossus +will not be injured. But I know that you place very little faith in +what I say." The merchant looked at him. "But mark my words: Your +standing will not be lowered--the Colossus will not show any ill +effect. It is too big a concern to be thus ruined. People trade there +for bargains, and not out of sentiment. In a short time Brooks will be +forgotten. It is perfectly clear to me." + +"Is it?" he asked, with eagerness. "Is it clear to you?" + +"Yes, perfectly." + +"Then make it clear to me. You can't do it, don't you see? You can't +do it." + +"Yes, he can, father; yes, he can," Mrs. Witherspoon pleaded. "It is +perfectly clear to me. You will look at it differently to-morrow. +Come, now, and lie down. Sleep will make it clear. Come on, now." + +She took hold of his arm. With a helpless trust he looked up at her. +"Come on, now." He lifted his heavy hands, got up with difficulty and +suffered her to lead him away. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +IMPATIENTLY WAITING. + + +While it was yet dark, and long before the dimply lake had caught a +glint from the coming sun, Witherspoon asked for the morning papers. +At brief periods of troubled sleep during the night he had fancied +that he was reading of the wreck of the Colossus and of his own +disgrace: and when he was told that the papers had not come, that it +was too early for them, he said: "Don't try to keep them back. I am +prepared." He wanted to get up and put on his clothes, but his wife +begged him to remain in bed. + +"Was the doctor here?" he asked. + +"Yes, don't you remember telling him that Brooks had been arrested?" + +"No, I don't remember anything but a bad taste in my mouth. I know +him; he leaves a bad taste as his visiting-card. What did he say? +Wasn't he delighted to have a chance at me?" + +"He said that if you keep quiet you will be all right in a day or +two." + +"Did anybody else come?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +"Reporters?" he asked. + +"Yes, I think so; but Henry saw them." + +"Hum! I suppose he will be known now as Witherspoon the detective." + +"No; the part he took will be kept a profound secret." + +"I hope so; but don't you think he would rather be known as some sort +of freak?" + +"No, dear. You do him an injustice." + +"But does he do me a _justice_? He's got to pay back every cent I +advanced on that newspaper deal." + +"We will attend to that, father." + +"_We_ will. You are to have nothing to do with it." + +"I mean that he will." + +"That's different. I'll take the thing away from him the first thing +he knows. I'm tired of his browbeating. Isn't it time for those +papers?" + +"Not quite." + +"Have they stopped printing them? Are they holding back just to worry +me now that they've got me down? Where's Henry?" + +"He has just gone out to wait for the carrier-boy. He's coming now, I +think." + +Henry came in with the morning papers. "What do they say?" Witherspoon +eagerly asked. He flounced up, and drawing the covers about him, sat +on the edge of the bed. + +"I'll see," Henry answered. + +"But be quick about it. Great goodness, I can't wait all day." + +"There's so much that I can't tell it in a breath." + +"But can't you give me the gist of it? Call yourself a newspaper man +and can't get at the gist of a thing." + +"Be patient a moment and I will read to you." + +During more than an hour Witherspoon sat, listening; and when the last +paper had been disposed of, he said: "Why, that isn't so bad. They +don't mix me up in it after all. What was that? Brooks seems to he +wavering and may make a confession? But what will he say? That's the +question. What will he say?" + +"How can he say anything to hurt you?" Mrs. Wither spoon asked. + +"He can't if he sticks to the truth. But will he? He may want to ruin +the Colossus. I will not go near him. They may hang him and let him +rot. I will not go near him. The truth is, I have been afraid of him. +The best of us have cause to fear the man we have placed too much +confidence in. Caroline, I'll get up." + +"Not now, father. The doctor said you must not get up to-day." + +"But does he suppose I'm going to lie here and let the Colossus run +wild? Got nobody to help me; nobody." + +"I will go down this morning and see that everything starts off all +right," said Henry. + +"You will? What do you know about it? You could have known all about +it, but what do you know now?" + +"I should think that the heads of the departments understand their +business; and I hope that I can at least represent you for a short +time." + +"For a short time? Oh, yes, a short time suits you exactly. Ellen +could do that, and I'd send her if she were at home." The girl was at +Lake Geneva. "Think you can go down and say, 'Wish you would open this +door if you please'? Think you can do that?" + +The mother put up her hands as though she would protect her son +against the merchant's feelingless reproach. For a time Henry sat +looking hard in Witherspoon's blood-shot eyes; and a thought, hot and +anger-edged, strove for utterance, but an appealing gesture, a look +from that gentle woman, turned his resentment into these consoling +words, "Don't worry. I think I know my duty when it's put before me. +The Colossus shall not suffer." + +How tenderly she looked at him. She made a magnanimity of the cooling +of his resentment and she gave him that sacred reward--a mother's +gratefulness. + +"All right," said the merchant, "Do the best you can." + +His quick discernment had caught the play between Henry and Mrs. +Witherspoon. "Of course I don't expect you to take my place. I want +you merely to show that the Witherspoon family hasn't run away." + +The doctor called and found his patient much improved. "A little rest +is all you need to bring you about again," the physician said. "Your +unsettled nerves have made you morbid. Don't worry. Everything will be +all right." + +The newspaper reports of the arrest of Brooks, although they proceeded +to arraign and condemn him, had on Witherspoon's nervous system more +of a retoning effect than could have been brought about by a doctor's +skill. That Brooks might be guilty, had not been the merchant's fear; +but that he himself might in some way be implicated, had been his +morbid dread. Now he could begin to recognize the truth that with a +black beast of his own creation he had frightened himself; and he +laughed with a nervous shudder. But when the doctor was gone he again +became anxious. + +"Caroline, didn't he ask if there had ever been any insanity in my +family?" + +"Why, no; he didn't hint at such a thing." + +"I must have dreamed it, then. But what makes me dream such strange +things? I thought you told him that my father had been a little off at +times. Didn't you?" + +"Why, of course not. You never told me that there was ever anything +wrong with your father, and even if there was how should I know it?" + +"But there wasn't anything wrong with him, Caroline, and why should +you say 'if there was.'" + +"Now, father, I never thought of such a thing as suspecting that there +was, and please don't let that worry you." + +"I won't, but didn't Henry bring a paper and keep it hidden until +after I went to sleep?" + +"No, he read them all to you." + +"I thought he brought in a weekly paper and read something about a +widow from Washington." + +"No, he didn't." + +After a time he dozed and then he began to mutter: "It is easier to +pay than to explain." + +"What is it, dear?" she asked, not noticing that he dozed. + +"Did you speak to me?" he inquired, rousing himself. + +"You said something about it's being easier to pay than to explain," +she answered. + +"Did I? Must have been dreaming. Has Ellen come home?" + +"Not yet, but I'm looking for her. Of course she started for home as +soon as she could after hearing the news." + +"What time is it?" + +"Twenty minutes of four," she answered, glancing at the clock. + +"I wonder why Henry doesn't come." + +"He'll be here soon." + +"Has any one heard from Mrs. Brooks?" + +"No. I would have gone over there, but I couldn't leave you." + +"You are a noble woman, Caroline." She was arranging his pillow and he +was looking up at her. "You are too good for me." + +"Please don't say that," she pleaded. + +"I might as well say it as to feel it. Isn't it time for Henry to +come?" + +"Yes, I think so. He'll be here soon, I'm sure." + +"I hope I shan't have to lie here to-morrow. I can't, and that's all +there is about it." + +He lay listening with the nervous ear of eagerness until so wearied by +disappointing noises that he sank into another doze. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +TOLD IT ALL. + + +Witherspoon started. "Ah, it's you. Did you bring the evening papers?" + +"Yes, here they are," Henry answered. + +"What do they say? Can't you tell me? Got the papers and can't tell me +what they say?" + +"They say a great deal," Henry replied. "Brooks has made a +confession." + +In an instant Witherspoon sat on the edge of the bed, with the covers +jerked about him. He opened his mouth, but no word came forth. + +"When he was told that Mrs. Colton had made a statement he gave up," +said Henry. "The confession is not a written one, but is doubtless +much fuller than if it were. I will take the _Star's_ report. They are +all practically the same, but this one has a few pertinent questions. +I will skip the introduction. + +"'I confess,' said Brooks, 'that I killed the old man, but I did not +murder him. I was trying to keep him from killing me. I had gone into +a losing speculation and was in pressing need of money. I knew that it +would be useless to ask him to help me; in fact, I didn't want him to +know that I had been speculating, and I decided to help myself. I knew +that he kept money in the safe at home; I didn't know how much, but I +thought that it was enough to help me out, and I began deliberately to +plan the robbery. I knew that it would have to be done in the most +skillful manner, for the old man's love of money made him as sharp as +a briar when money was at stake; and I was resolved to have no +confederates to share the reward and afterward to keep me in fear of +exposure, I wrote a letter, and using the first name that came into my +head, addressed it to "Dave Kittymunks, General Delivery, Chicago." I +don't know where I picked up the name, and it makes no difference. I +ran up to Milwaukee, dropped the letter in a mail box and was back +here before any one knew that I was out of town. I disguised myself +with black whiskers, went to the post-office and called for the +letter, and took care that the delivery clerk should notice me. Colton +supposed that none but members of his family knew of the safe at home, +and why a robber should know must be made clear; so, wearing the same +disguise, I called at the house one day and told the servant in charge +that I had been sent to search for sewer-gas. I showed an order. A +shrewd colored man had been discharged on account of some +irregularities into which I had entrapped him, and an ignorant fellow +that had agreed to work for less had just been put in his place. One +evening when our family visited the Witherspoons I perfected my +arrangements. I sawed the iron bars at the window and placed the black +coat, with the Kittymunks letter in the pocket, as if the sash had +failed and caught it. It was necessary that the coat should be found, +and it was hardly natural that it should be found lying in the yard, +it must appear that in his haste to get away the robber was compelled +to leave his coat, and this could not be done unless he was forced to +get out of it, leaving the police to suspect that he had done so with +a struggle. I had torn one sleeve nearly off. But the mere falling of +the sash on the tail of the coat would not do, it would pull out too +easily. Then I thought of the pipe. I arranged the safe so that with a +chisel I could open it easily--it was an old and insecure thing, +anyway--and then placed a ladder on the ground under the window. Here +there is a paved walk, so there was no necessity to make tracks. Now, +there was but one thing more, and that was a noise to sound like the +falling of the sash, and which was to wake the old man so that he +might jump up almost in time to catch the robber. I had almost +forgotten this, and now it puzzled me. The vault-room, a narrow +apartment, is between the old man's room and mine, and I could have +left the window up, propped with a stick, and from my window jerked +out the prop, but the cool air would have shown the old man that the +window was raised, and this would have ruined everything. Finally I +decided that the falling of my own window--both are old-fashioned and +are held up by a notched button--would arouse him and that he would +think that the noise came from the vault-room. I would prop it with +the edge of the button so that a slight pull on a string would throw +it. But another question then arose. The weather was cold, and why +should we have our window up so high? How should I explain to my wife? +I would build a roaring fire in the furnace. That would heat the room +too hot and give me an excuse to raise the window. But she would find +it down. I could tell her that the room cooled off and that I put it +down. But I was quibbling with myself. Everything was settled. The +hall-door of the vault-room is but a step from my own door, and was +kept fastened with a spring lock and a bolt and was supposed never to +be opened. I drew back the bolt and the catch, and fixed the catch so +that I could easily spring it when I went out. When everything had +thus been arranged, I went to Witherspoon's to come home with the +folks. The sky was clouded and the night was very dark. When we +reached home the old man complained of having eaten too +much--something he never had cause to complain of when he ate at +home--and said that he believed he would lie down. + +"'The window of the vault-room was never raised by the old man, and +was kept fastened down with an old-time cast-iron catch. I had broken +this off; but, afraid that he might examine the window and the door, I +went with him to his room. And when he went into the vault-room to +light the gas, I stood in the door and talked to him about his +intended investment, and I talked so positively of the great profit +he would surely make that he looked at neither the door nor the +window. Everything had worked well. I bade him and the old lady good +night and went to my own room. My wife complained of the heat, and I +raised the window, remarking that I would get up after a while and put +it down. How dreadfully slow the time was after I went to bed! And +when I thought that every one must be asleep, my wife startled me by +asking if I had noticed how unusually feeble her mother looked. I +imagined that some one was dragging the ladder from under the window, +and once I fancied that I heard the old man call me. The thought, the +possibility of committing murder never occurred to me. The positive +knowledge that I should never be discovered and that I should get +every dollar of his money would not have tempted me to kill him. I lay +for a long time--until I knew that every one must be asleep. Then I +carefully got out of bed. I struck a chair, and I waited to see if my +wife had been awakened by the noise. No; she was sound asleep. I tied +a string to the window button, got my tools, which I had hidden in a +closet and which were mainly intended for show after the robbery was +discovered, and softly stole out. The hall was dark. The old man hated +a gas-bill. I felt my way to the vault-room door and gently pushed it +open, a little at a time. When I got inside I remembered that the very +first thing I must attend to during the excitement which would follow +the discovery of the robbery was to slip the bolt back in its place. +The gas appeared to be burning lower than usual, and I wondered if the +prospect of parting with money enough to make the investment had +driven the old man to one more turn of his screw of economy. Although +I knew how to open the safe, for previous arrangement had made it +easy, I found it to be some trouble after all. But I got it open and +had taken out the money drawer when a noise startled me. I sprang up, +and there was the old man. He was but a few feet from me. He had a +pistol. I saw it gleam in the dim light. I couldn't stand discovery, +and I must protect myself against being shot. I knew that in the +semi-darkness he did not recognize me. All this came with a flash. I +sprang upon him. With one hand I caught the pistol, with the other I +clutched his throat. I would choke him senseless and run back to my +room. He threw up one hand, threw back his head and freed his throat. +We were under the gas jet. My hand struck the screw, and the light +leaped to full blaze. At that instant the pistol fired and the old man +fell, I wheeled about and was in the hall; I sprung the lock after me, +and in a second I was in my own room--just as my wife, dazed with +fright, had jumped out of bed. "Come," I cried, "something must have +happened." And together we ran into the old man's room.' + +"'During the excitement which followed I forgot no precaution; I +slipped the bolt back into place and removed the string from the +button of my own window. My wife was frantic. I did not suspect that +the old woman had seen me, for I was not in the vault-room an instant +after the pistol fired, and before that it was so dark that she could +not have recognized me. If I had thought that she did see me'-- + +"'What would you have done?' the reporter asked. + +"'I don't know,' Brooks answered, 'but it is not reasonable to suppose +that I would have let her go away from home. I acknowledge that I +did not care to see her recover--now that I am acknowledging +everything--for at best she could be only in the way, and naturally, +she would interfere with my management of the estate. But if I had +been anxious that she should die, I could have had her poisoned. +Instead, however, I employed a quack, who I knew pretended to be a +great physician, and who I believed could do her no good. In fact, I +didn't think that she could live but a few days.' After pausing for a +moment he added, 'She must have seen me just as the light blazed up, +and was doubtless standing back from the door. I didn't take any +money.' + +"'But why didn't you take the money while the old man was away? Then +you would have run no risk of killing him or of being killed." + +"'I could easily have done this, but he was so shrewd. I wanted him to +believe that he had almost caught the robber.' + +"'Then there is no such man as Dave Kittymunks,' said the reporter. + +"'No,' Brooks answered. + +"'But Flummers, the reporter, said that he knew him.' + +"'I met Mr. Flummers one evening,' Brooks replied, 'and before we +parted company I think that he must have had in his mind a vague +recollection of having seen such a fellow. The public was eager, and +that was a great stimulus to Mr. Flummers.' + +"'Did you feel that you were suspected?' the reporter asked. + +"'Not of having committed the murder, but I felt that I was suspected +of having had something to do with it. But I hadn't a suspicion that +any proof existed. I could stand suspicion, especially as I should +receive large pay for it. A number of men in this city are under +suspicion of one kind or another, but it doesn't seem to have hurt +them a great deal. Their checks are good. Men come back from the +penitentiary and build up fortunes with the money they stole. Their +hammered brass fronts and colored electric lights are not unknown to +Clark Street.' + +"'But you suffered remorse, of course,' the reporter suggested. + +"'I think that there is a great deal of humbug about the remorse a man +feels,' Brooks replied. 'I regretted that I had been forced to kill +the old man, for with all his stinginess he was rather kind-hearted, +but I had to save my own life. It is true that I didn't have to commit +the robbery, but robbery is not a capital crime.' + +"'But the self-defense of a robber, when it results in a tragedy, is a +murder,' the reporter suggested. + +"'We'll see about that,' Brooks coolishly replied. + +"'Do you make this confession with the advice of your lawyer?' + +"'No, but at the suggestion of my own judgment. When I was told that +the old woman had seen the killing and that, of course, her deposition +would be introduced in court, I then knew that it was worse than +useless to protest my innocence. Besides, as she saw it, the tragedy +was a murder, but, as I confess it'--He hesitated. + +"'It is what?' the reporter asked. + +"'Well, that's for the law to determine. There should always be some +mercy for a man who tells the truth. I have done a desperate thing--I +staked my future on it. But I have associated with rich men so long +that for me a future without money could be but a continuation of +embarrassment. I have helped to make the fortunes of other men, but I +failed when I engaged in speculations for myself. I had prospects, it +is true, but I didn't know but Colton had arranged his will so as to +prevent my using his money; and I had reason to fear that my wife was +in touch with him,' + +"'Has she been to see you?' the reporter asked. + +"'That's rather an impertinent question,' Brooks replied, 'but I may +as well confess everything. We haven't been getting along very well +together. No, she hasn't been to see me. Not one of my friends has +called. There, gentlemen, I have told you everything.'" + +When the last word of the interview had been pronounced, Witherspoon +grunted and lay back with his hands clasped under his head. + +"What do you think of it?" Henry asked. + +"There's hardly any room for thinking." + +But he did think, and a few moments later he said: "Of all the +cold-blooded scoundrels I ever heard of, he takes the lead. And just +to think what I have done for him! I don't think, though, that he has +robbed us of much. He didn't have the handling of a great deal of +cash. Still I can't tell. My, how sharp he is! He didn't mention the +Colossus. But what difference Would it make?" He sat up. "What need I +care how often he mentions it? The public knows me. Nobody ever had +cause to question my credit. Why should I have been worried over him? +Henry, you are right; my trouble is the result of a physical cause. +Caroline, I'm going in to dinner with you." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +POINTS OUT HER BROTHER'S DUTY. + + +In the afternoon of the day that followed the publication of the +confession Flummers minced his way into the Press Club. He wore a suit +of new clothes, and although the weather was warm, he carried a +silk-faced overcoat. Before any one took notice of him he put his coat +and hat on the piano, and then, with a gesture, he exclaimed: + +"_Wow!_" + +"Why, here's Kittymunks! Helloa, Kit!" one man shouted. "Have you +identified Brooks?" some one else cried, and a roar followed. + +For a moment Flummers stood smiling at this raillery; then suddenly, +and as though he would shut out a humiliating scene, he pressed his +hands across his eyes. But his hands flew off into a double +gesture--into a gathering motion that invited every one to come into +his confidence, and solemnly he pronounced these words: + +"He made a monkey of me." + +"I should say he did!" Whittlesy cried. "Oh, you'll hold me in the +hollow of your hand, will you?" + +Flummers looked at Whittlesy and scalloped the forerunner of a +withering speech; but, thoughtful enough suddenly to remember that at +this solemn time his words and his eyes belonged not to one man, but +to the entire company, he withdrew his gaze from Whittlesy, and in +his broad look included every one present. + +"He made a monkey of me. He stopped me on the street one evening--I +had boned him for an advertisement when I was running _The Art of +Interior Decoration_--and was so polite that I said to myself: 'Papa, +here's another flip man thirsting for recognition. Put him on your +staff.' Well, we had a bowl or two at Garry's, and the first thing I +knew he began to remind me that I remembered a fellow who must be +Kittymunks, and I said, 'Hi, gi, here's a scoop.' And it was. Oh, it's +a pretty hard matter to scoop papa"--(tapping his head). "Papa knows +what the public wants, and he serves it up. Some of you dry-dock +conservative ducks would have let it go by, but papa is nothing if not +adventurous. Papa knows that without adventure you make no +discoveries. But, wow! he did make a monkey of me. Just think of a +floor-walker making a monkey of papa!" He pressed his hand to his +brow. "Why, a floor-walker has been my especial delicacy--he has been +my appetizer, my white-meat--but, wow! this fellow was a gristle." + +"Mr. Flummers," said McGlenn, "we all love you." + +"Say, John, I owe you two dollars." + +"No, Mr. Flummers, you don't owe me anything." + +"But I borrowed two dollars from you, John, when I started _The +Bankers' Review."_ + +"No man can borrow money from me, Mr. Flummers. If he gets money from +me, it's his and not mine. We all love you, Mr. Flummers, and your +Kittymunks escapade, so thoroughly in keeping with our estimate of +you, has added strength to our affection. If you wish to keep friends, +Mr. Flummers, you must do nothing which they could not forecast for +you. The development of hitherto undiscovered traits, of an +unsuspected and therefore an inconsistent strength, is a dash of cold +water in the face of friendship. We are tied to you by a strong rope +made of the strands of weaknesses, Mr. Flummers." + +"Oh, no." + +"Yes, made of the fine-spun strands of weaknesses, Mr. Flummers. It is +better to be a joss of pleasing indiscretion than to be a man of great +strength, for the joss has no enemies, but sooner or later the strong +man must be overthrown by the hoard of weaklings that envy has set +against him. Do you desire something to drink, Mr. Flummers?" + +"No." + +"Now you place your feet on inconsistent and slippery ground, Mr. +Flummers. Remember that in order to hold our love you must not +surprise us." + +"But I can't drink now; I have just had something to eat." + +"Beware, Mr. Flummers. Inconsiderate eating caused a great general to +lose a battle, and now you are in danger. You may suffer superfluous +lunch to change our opinion of you, which means a withdrawal of our +love." + +"Oh, wait a minute or two, John. But never mind. Say, there, boy, +bring me a little liquor. But, say, wasn't it funny that Detective +Stavers should give ten thousand dollars of that reward to the Home +for the Friendless? I used to work for the Pinkertons, and I know all +those guys, and there's not one of the whole gang that gives a snap +for charity. There's a mystery about it somewhere." + +"Probably you can throw some light on it as you did on the Kittymunks +affair," Whittlesy suggested. + +Flummers gave him a scallop. "Papa still holds you in the hollow of +his hand. Here you are; see?" He put his finger in the palm of his +hand. "You are right there; see? And when I want you, I'm going to +shut down, this way." He closed his hand. "And people will wonder what +papa's carrying around with him, but you'll know all the time." + +"My," said Whittlesy, "what a dangerous man this fellow would be if he +had nerve! Oh, yes, people will wonder what you have in the hollow of +your hand, and sooner or later, they will find that you are carrying +three shells and a pea. Get out, Kittymunks. I'm afraid of you--too +tough for me." + +Flummers waved Whittlesy into oblivion, and continued: "Old +Witherspoon gave up his check for twenty thousand, and there the +reward stops, for Mrs. Brooks won't give anything for having her +husband caught. It has been whispered in the _Star_ office that Henry +Witherspoon had something to do with the detection of Brooks, and made +Stavers promise that he would give half the reward to charity. But I +don't believe it. Why should he want to give up ten thousand? But +there's a mystery in it somewhere, and the first thing you know +papa'll get on the track of it. Here, boy, bring that drink. What have +you been doing out there? Have I got to drink alone? Well, I'm equal +to any emergency." He shuddered as he swallowed the whisky, but +recovered instantly, and with a circular movement, expressive of his +satisfaction, rubbed his growing paunch. + +Witherspoon remained three days at home and then resumed his place at +the store. With a promptness in which he took a pride, he sent a check +to the detective. He did this even before he went down to the +Colossus. The physician had urged him to put aside all business cares, +and the merchant had replied with a contemptuous grunt. He appeared to +be stronger when he came home at evening, and he joked with Ellen; he +told her that she had narrowly escaped the position of temporary +manager of the Colossus. They were in the library, and a cheerfulness +that had been absent seemed just to have returned. Witherspoon went +early to bed and left Henry and Ellen sitting there. + +"Don't you think he will be well in a few days?" the girl asked. + +"Yes, now that his worry is locked in jail." + +"That isn't so very bad," she replied, smiling at him. "But suppose +they hang his worry?" + +"It may be all the better." + +"Mother and I went this afternoon to see Mrs. Brooks," said the girl. +"And she doesn't appear to be crushed, either. I don't see why she +should be--they wouldn't have lived together much longer anyway. Oh, +of course she's humiliated and all that, but if she really cared for +him she'd be heartbroken. She used to tell me how handsome he was, but +that was before they were married. I think she must have found out +lately what she might have known at first--that he married her for +money. Oh, she's a good woman--there's no doubt of that--but she's +surely as plain a creature as I've ever seen." + +"If I had thought that she loved him," said Henry, "I should have +hesitated a long time before seeking to fasten the murder on him. I +may have only a vague regard for justice, for abstract right is so +intangible; but I have a strong and definite sympathy." + +"We all have," she said. "Oh, by the way," she broke off, as though by +mere accident she had thought of something, "you superintended the +Colossus for two whole days, didn't you?" + +"I didn't exactly superintend it, but I stood about with an air of +helpless authority." + +"But how did you get along with your paper during all that worry?" she +asked; and before he answered she added, "I don't see how you could +write anything." + +"Worry is a bad producer, but a good critic," Henry replied. "And I +didn't try to write much," he added. + +She put her elbows on the arm of her chair, rested her chin on her +hand and leaned toward him. "Do you know what I've been thinking of +ever since I came home?" she asked. + +"Well," he answered, smiling on her, "as you haven't told me and as I +am not a mind-reader, I can't say that I do." + +"Must I tell you?" + +"Yes." + +"And you won't be put out?" + +"Surely not. You wouldn't want to tell me if you thought it would put +me out, would you?" + +"No, but I was afraid this might." She hesitated. "I have been +thinking that you ought to go into business with father. Wait a +moment, now, please. You said you wouldn't be put out. You see how +much he needs you, and you ought to be willing to make a personal +sacrifice. You"-- + +He reached over and put his hand on her head. She looked into his +eyes. "Ellen, there is but one thing that binds me to a past that was +a hardship, but which after all was a liberty; and that one thing is +the fact that I am independent of the Colossus, the mill where +thousands of feet are treading. I have one glimpse of freedom, and +that is through the window of my office. It isn't possible that you +can wholly understand me, but let me tell you one time for all that I +shall have nothing to do with the store." + +She put his hand off her head and settled back in her chair. "I +thought you might if I asked you, but I ought to have known that +nothing I could say would have any effect. You don't care for me; you +don't care for any of us." + +"Ellen, it is but natural that you should side with father against me, +and it is also natural that I should decide in favor of myself. You +may say that on my part it is selfishness, and I may say that it is +more just than selfish. But you must _not_ say that I don't care for +you." + +"Oh, it is easy enough for you to say that you _do_ care for me," she +replied. "It costs but a breath that must be breathed anyway; but if +you really cared for me you would do as I ask you--as I beg of you." + +"Well," and he laughed at her, "there is a charming narrowness in that +view, I must say. If I love you I will grant whatever you may ask; and +if you love me--then what? Shall I answer?" + +"Yes," she said, "as you seem to know what answer will be most +acceptable to you." + +"No, not the answer most acceptable to me, but the one that seems to +be the most consistent. And if you love me," he continued, in answer +to the question, "you will not ask me to make a painful sacrifice." +He looked earnestly at her and added: "I think you'd better call me a +crank and dismiss the subject." + +He expected her to take this as a humorous smoothing of their first +unpleasant ruffle, but if she did she shrewdly deceived him, for she +looked at him with the soberest of inquiry as she asked: + +"Do you really think you are a crank?" + +"I sometimes think so," he answered. + +"Isn't it simply that you take a pride in being different from other +people. Don't you strive to be odd?" + +"Are you talking seriously?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"Well, then, I will say seriously that I do take a pride in being +different from some people?" + +"Am I included?" + +"Oh, nonsense, girl. What are you thinking about?" + +"Oh, I know you don't care for any of us," she whimpered. "You won't +even let mother show her love for you; you try to surround yourself +with a lordly mystery." + +"If I have a mystery it is far from a lordly one." + +"But it's not far from annoying, I can tell you that." + +"Don't try to pick a quarrel, little girl." + +"Oh, I'm not half so anxious to quarrel as you are." + +"All right; if that's the case, we'll get along smoothly. Get your +doll out of the little trunk and let us play with her." + +She got up and stood with her hands resting on the back of the chair. +"If I didn't have to like you, Henry, I wouldn't like you a single +bit. But somehow I can't help it. It must be because I can't +understand you." + +"Then why do you blame me for not making myself plain, since your +regard depends upon the uncertain light in which you see me?" + +"You are so funny," she said. + +"Then you ought to laugh at me instead of scolding." + +"Indeed! But if I didn't scold sometimes you would rim over me; and +besides, we shouldn't have the happiness that comes from making up +again. Really, though, won't you think about what I have said?" + +"I will think about you, and that will include all that you have said +and all that you may say." + +"I oughtn't to kiss you good night, but after that I suppose I must. +There--Mr.--Ungratefulness. Good night." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +THE VERDICT. + + +During the first few weeks of his imprisonment, the murderer of old +man Colton had maintained a lightsome air, but as the time for his +trial drew near he appeared to lose the command of that self-hypnotism +which had seemed to extract gayety from wretchedness. To one who has +been condemned to death there comes a resignation that is deeper than +a philosophy. Despair has killed the nerve that fear exposed, and +nothing is left for terror to feed on. But Brooks had not this +deadened resignation, for he had a hope that he might escape the +gallows, and so long as there is a hope there is an anxiety. He had +refused to see his wife, for he felt that in her heart she had +condemned him and executed the sentence; but he was anxious to see +Witherspoon. He thought that with the aid of that logic which trade +teaches and which in its directness comes near being an intellectual +grace, he could explain himself to the merchant and thereby whiten his +crime, and he sent for him; but the messenger returned with a note +that bore words which Brooks had often heard Witherspoon speak and +which he himself so often had repeated: "Explain to the law." + +The trial came. In the expectancy with which Chicago looks for a new +sensation, Brooks had been almost forgotten by the public. His +confession had robbed his trial of that uncertainty which means +excitement, and there now remained but a formal ceremony, the +appointment of his time to die. The newspapers no longer paid especial +attention to him, and such neglect depresses a murderer, for notoriety +is his last intoxicant. It seemed that an unwarranted length of time +was taken up in the selection of a jury, a deliberation that usually +exposes justice to many dangers; and after this the trial proceeded. +The deposition of Mrs. Colton was introduced. It was a brief +statement, and after leading up to the vital point, thus concluded: "I +must have been asleep some time, when my husband awoke me. He said +that he thought he heard a noise in the vault-room. I listened for a +few moments and replied that I didn't think it was anything. But he +got up and took his pistol from under the pillow and went into the +vault-room. A moment later I was convinced that I heard something, and +I got up, and just as I got near the door the light blazed up and at +the same moment there was a loud report as of a pistol; and then I saw +my husband fall--saw Mr. Brooks wheel about and run out of the room. +This is all I remember until I found myself lying on the bed, unable +to move or speak." + +Brooks set up a plea for mercy, and his lawyers were strong in the +urging of it, but when the judge delivered his charge it was clear +that the plea was not entertained by the court. The jury retired, and +now the courtroom was thronged. To idle men there is a fascination in +the expected verdict, even though it may not admit of the quality of +speculation. The jurymen could not be out long--their duty was well +defined; but an hour passed, and the crowd began gradually to melt +away. Two hours--and word came that the jury could not agree. It was +now dark, and the court was adjourned to meet in evening session. But +midnight struck, and still there was no verdict. What could be the +cause of this indecision? It was a mystery outside, but within the +room it was plain. One man had hung the jury. In his community he was +so well known as a sectarian that he was called a hypocrite. He was +not thought to be strong except in the grasp he held upon bigotry, but +he succeeded in either convincing or browbeating eleven men into an +agreement not to hang Brooks, but to send him to the penitentiary for +life; and this verdict was rendered when the court reassembled at +morning. + +Witherspoon was sitting in his office at the Colossus when Henry +entered. Papers were piled upon the merchant's desk, but he regarded +them not. A boy stood near as if waiting for orders, but Witherspoon +took no heed of him. He sat in a reverie, and as Henry entered he +started as if rudely aroused from sleep. + +"Have you heard the verdict?" Henry asked. + +"By telephone," Witherspoon answered. "Sit down." + +"No, I must get over to the office. What do you think of the verdict?" + +"If the law's satisfied I am," Witherspoon answered. "But you wanted +him hanged, didn't you?" he added. + +"No, but I wanted him punished. The truth is, I hated the fellow +almost from the first." + +Witherspoon turned to the boy and asked: "What do you want? Oh, did I +ring for you? Well, you may go." And then he spoke to Henry: "You +hated him." + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"Because he is a villain." + +"But if you hated him from the first, you hated him before you found +out that he was a villain; and that was snap judgment. I try a man +before I condemn him." + +"And I let a man condemn himself, and some men do this the minute I +see them." + +"But a quick judgment is nearly always wrong." + +"Yes, and yet it's better than a slow judgment that allows itself to +be imposed upon." + +"Sometimes," Witherspoon agreed; and after a short silence he added: +"I was just thinking of how that fellow imposed on me, but I can't +quite get at the cause of my worry over him, and I don't understand +why I should have been afraid that he could ruin me. I want to ask you +something, and I want you to tell me the exact truth without fear of +giving offense: Have you ever thought that at times my mind was +unbalanced? Have you?" + +"You haven't been well, and a sick man's mind is never sound, you +know." + +"That's all true enough; but do I remind you very much of your uncle +Andrew?" + +"Yes, when you worry." + +"I thought so. I've got to stop worrying; and I believe that we have +more control over ourselves than we exercise. Come back at noon and +we'll go out together." + +"I'll be here," Henry replied. + +Just before he reached the office Henry met John Richmond, and +together they stepped into a cigar-store. + +"I've been over to your office," said Richmond. "I have important +business with you." + +"All right, John. Business with you is a pleasure." + +"I think this will be. This is the last day of September, and relying +on my recollection, I know that black bass are about ready to begin +their fall campaign. So I thought we'd better get on a train early +to-morrow morning and go out into Lake County. Now don't say you are +too busy, for _I'm_ running away from a stack of work as high as my +head." + +"I'll go." + +"Good. We'll have a glorious day in the woods. We'll forget Brother +Brooks and the fanatic who saved his life; we'll float on the lake; +well pick up nuts; we'll listen to the controversy of the blue jays, +and the flicker, flicker of the yellowhammers; we'll study Mr. +Woodpecker, whose judgment tells him to go south, but who is held back +by the promising sunshine. The train leaves at eight. I'll be on hand, +and don't you fail." + +"I won't. I'm only too anxious to get out of town." + +Shortly after Henry arrived at the office Miss Drury came into his +room. "Your sister was here just now," she said. + +"Was she?" + +"Yes, she came to wait for the verdict." + +"That reminds me. I intended to telephone, but forgot it." + +"She said she knew you wouldn't think of it." + +"Did you quarrel?" Henry asked. + +"Did we quarrel? Well, now, I like that question. No, we didn't +quarrel. I got along with her quite as well as I do with her brother. +She said that she had often wondered who got up my department, but +that no one had ever told her." + +"She may have wondered, but she never asked. So, you see, I intend to +rid myself of blame even at the expense of my sister." + +"Oh, I suppose she said it merely to put me in good humor with +myself." + +"But wouldn't it have been more in harmony with a woman's character if +she'd given you a sly cut, a tiny stab, to put you in ill humor with +the world?" + +"I hope you don't mean that, Mr. Witherspoon." + +"Why? Would it make you think less of women?" + +"What egotism! No, less of you." + +"Oh, if that's the case I'll withdraw it--will say that I didn't mean +it." + +"That's so kind of you that I'm almost glad you said it." + +She went back to her work, but a few moments later she returned, and +now she appeared to be embarrassed. "You must pardon me," she said. + +"Pardon you? What for?" + +"For speaking so rudely just now. You constantly make me forget that I +am working for you." + +"That's a high compliment. But I didn't notice that you spoke rudely." + +"Yes, I said 'what egotism,' and I'm sorry." + +"You must not be sorry, for if you meant what you said, I deserved +it." + +"Oh, then you really did mean what you said about women." + +Henry laughed. "Miss Drury, don't worry over anything I say; and +remember that I'm pleased whenever you forget that you are working for +me. You didn't know that I was instrumental in the arrest of Brooks, +did you?" + +"Why, no, I never thought of such a thing." + +"You must keep it to yourself, but I was, and why? I hated him. Once +he suggested to me that he would like to have you take lunch with him. +I told him that you didn't go out with any one, and with +coldbloodedness he replied, 'Ah, she hasn't been here long.' I hated +him from that moment. Don't you see what a narrow-minded fellow I am?" + +"Narrow-minded!" + +"Yes, to move the law against a man merely because he had spoken +lightly of--of my friend." + +She was leaning against the door-case and was looking down. She +dropped a paper. Henry glanced at the window, which he called his +loop-hole of freedom, for through it no Colossus could be seen. He +turned slowly and looked toward the door. The girl was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +A DAY OF REST. + + +Early the next morning Henry and Richmond were on a train, speeding +away from the roar, the clang, the turmoil, the smoke, the atmospheric +streams of stench, the trouble of the city. They saw a funeral +procession, and Richmond remarked: "They have killed a drone and are +dragging him out of the hive, and as they have set out so early they +must be going to pay him the compliment of a long haul." They passed +stations where men who had spent a quiet night at home paced up and +down impatiently waiting for a train to whirl them back to their daily +strife. "They play cards going in and coming out," said Richmond, "but +at noon they are eager to cut one another's throats." + +They ran through a forest, dense and wild-looking, but in the wildness +there was a touch of man's deceiving art. They crossed a small river +and caught sight of a barefooted boy trying to steal a boat. They sped +over the prairie and flew past an old Dutch windmill. It was an odd +sight, an un-American glimpse--a wink at a strange land. They +commented on everything that whirled within sight--a bend in the road, +a crooked Line, a tumble-down fence. They were boys. They talked about +names that they held a prejudice against, and occasionally one of them +would say, "No, I don't like a man of that name." + +"There," Richmond spoke up, "I never knew a man of that name that +wasn't a wolf. But sometimes one good fellow offsets a whole +generation of bad names. I never liked the name Witherspoon until I +met you." + +"How do you like DeGolyer?" Henry asked. + +"That's not so had, but it isn't free from political scandal. I rather +like it--strikes me that there might be a pretty good fellow of that +name. Let me see. We'll get off about three miles this side of Lake +Villa and go over to Fourth Lake. The woods over there are beautiful." + +"We should have insisted on McGlenn's coming," said Henry. + +"No," Richmond replied, "the country is a bore to John. Once he came +out with me and found fault with what he termed the loose methods of +nature. I pointed out a hill, and he said that it wasn't so graceful +as a mound in the park. I waved my hand toward a pastoral stretch of +valley, and he said, 'Yes, but it isn't Drexel Boulevard.' Art is the +mistress of John's mind. His emotions are never stirred by a simple +tune, but the climax of an opera tumbles him over and over in ecstasy. +He is one of the truest of friends, and he is as game as a brook +trout. He has associated with drunkards, but was never drunk; and +during his early days in Chicago he lived with gamblers, but he came +out an honorable man." + +"I have been reading his novels," said Henry, "and in places he is as +sharp as broken glass." + +"Yes, but he is too much given to didacticism. Out of mischief I tell +him that he sets up a theory, calls it a character, and talks through +it. But he is strong, and his technique is fine." + +"In Paris he would have been a great man," Henry replied. + +They got off at a milk station and strolled along a road. A piece of +newspaper fluttered on the ground in front of them. + +"There is just enough of a breeze to stir a scandal," said Richmond, +treading upon the paper. + +"When I find a newspaper in an out-of-the-way place," Henry replied, +"I fancy that the world has lost one of its visiting-cards." + +They stopped at a farm-house, engaged a boat, and then went down to +the lake. Nature wore a thoughtful, contemplative smile, and the lake +was a dimple. A flawless day; an Indian summer day, gauzed with a +glowing haze. And the smaller trees, in recognition of this +grape-juice time of year, had adorned themselves in red. October, the +sweetest and mellowest stanza in God Almighty's poem--the dreamy, +lulling lines between hot Summer's passion and Winter's cold severity. +On the train they had been boys, but now they were men, looking at the +tranquil, listening to the immortal. + +"Did you speak?" Henry asked. + +"No," said Richmond, "it was October." + +They floated out on the lake. Mud-hens, in their midsummer fluttering, +had woven the rushes into a Gobelin tapestry. The deep notes of the +old frog were hushed, but in an out-of-the-way nook the youngster was +trying his voice on the water-dog. A dragon-fly lighted on a stake and +flashed a sunbeam from his bedazzled wing; and a bright bug, like a +streak of blue flame, zigzagged his way across the smooth water. + +An hour passed. "They won't bite," said Richmond. "In this pervading +dreaminess they have forgotten their materialism." + +"Probably they are tired of minnows," Henry replied. "Suppose we try +frogs." + +"No, I have sworn never to bait with another frog. It's too much like +patting a human being on a hook. The last frog I used reached up, took +hold of the hook and tried to take it out. No, I can't fish with a +frog." + +"But you would catch a bass, and you know that it must hurt him--in +fact, you know that it's generally fatal." + +"Yes, but it's his rapacity that gets him into trouble. I don't +believe they're going to bite. Suppose we go over yonder and wallow +under that tree." + +"All right. I don't care to catch a fish now anyway. It would be a +disturbance to pull him out. Our trip has already paid us a large +profit. With one exception it has been more than a year since I have +seen anything outside of that monstrous town. As long as the spirit of +the child remains with the man, he loves the country. All children are +fond of the woods--the deep shade holds a mystery." + +They lay on the thick grass under an oak. On one side of the tree was +an old scar, made with an axe, and Henry, pointing to the scar, said: +"To cut down this tree was once the task assigned some lusty young +fellow, but just as he had begun his work, a neighbor came along and +told him that his strong arm was needed by his country; and he put +down his axe and took up a gun." + +"That may be," Richmond replied, "Many a hero has sprung from this +land; these meadows have many times been mowed by men who went away +to reap and who were reaped at Gettysburg." + +After a time they went out in the boat again, and were on the water +when the sun lost its splendor and, hanging low, fired the distant +wood-top. And now there was a hush as if all the universe waited for +the dozing day to sink into sounder sleep. The sun went down, a bird +screamed, and nature began her evening hum. + +In the darkness they lost the path that led through the woods. They +made an adventure of this, and pretended that they might not find +their way out until morning. They wandered about in a laughing +aimlessness, and there was a tone of disappointment in Richmond's +voice when he halted and said, "Here's the road." + +They went to bed in the farmer's spare room, where the subscription +book, flashing without and dull within, lay on the center table. A +plaster-of-paris kitten, once the idol of a child whose son now +doubtless lay in a national burial-ground, looked down from the +mantel-piece. There was the frail rocking-chair that was never +intended to be sat in, and on the wall, in an acorn-studded frame, was +a faded picture entitled "The Return of the Prodigal." + +Richmond was sinking to sleep when Henry called him. + +"What is it?" + +"I didn't know you were asleep." + +"I wasn't. What were you going to say?" + +"Oh, nothing in particular--was just going to ask what you think of a +man who lives a lie?" + +"I should think," Richmond answered, "that he must be a pretty natural +sort of a fellow." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +A MOTHER'S REQUEST. + + +At dinner, the evening after Henry had returned from the country, +Ellen caused her mother to look up by saying that Miss Miller's chance +was gone. + +"What do you mean?" Mrs. Witherspoon asked. "I wasn't aware that Miss +Miller ever had any chance, as you are pleased to term it. But why +hasn't she as much chance now as she ever had?" + +"Because her opportunity has been killed." + +"Was it ever alive?" Henry asked. + +"Oh, yes, but it is dead now. Mother, you ought to see the young woman +I saw at Henry's office the other day. Look, he's trying to blush. Oh, +she's dazzling with her great blue eyes." + +Mrs. Witherspoon's look demanded an explanation. + +"Mother," said Henry, "she means our book-reviewer." + +"I don't like literary women," Mrs. Witherspoon replied, with stress +in the movement of her head and with prejudice in the compression of +her lips. "They are too--too uppish, I may say." + +"But Miss Drury makes no literary pretensions," Henry rejoined. + +"I should think not," Ellen spoke up. "I didn't take her to be +literary, she was so neatly dressed." + +"When you cease so lightly to discuss a noble-minded girl--a friend +of mine--you will do me a great favor," Henry replied. + +"What's all this?" Witherspoon asked. He had paid no attention to this +trifling set-to and had caught merely the last accent of it. + +"Oh, nothing, I'm sure," Ellen answered. + +"Very well, then, we can easily put it aside. Henry, what was it you +said to-day at noon about going away?" + +"I said that I was going with a newspaper excursion to Mexico." + +"Oh, surely, not so far as that!" Mrs. Witherspoon exclaimed. + +"It won't take long, mother." + +"No, but it's so far; and I should think that you've had enough of +that country." + +"I've never been in Mexico." + +"Oh, well, all those countries down there are just the same, and I +should think that when you have seen one your first impression is that +you don't want to see another." + +"They are restful at any rate," he replied. + +"But can't you rest nearer home?" + +"I could, but I have made up my mind to go with this excursion. I'll +not be gone long." + +"When are you going to start?" + +"To-morrow evening." + +"So soon as that?" + +"Yes; I--I didn't decide until to-day." + +"I don't like to have you go so far, but you know best, I suppose. Are +you going out this evening?" she asked. + +"No." + +"Well, I wish to have a talk with you alone. Come to my +sitting-room." + +"With pleasure," he answered. + +He thought that he knew the subject upon which she had chosen to talk; +he saw that she was worried over Miss Drury; but when he had gone into +her room and taken a seat beside her, he was surprised that she began +to speak of Witherspoon's health. + +"I know," she said, "that he is getting stronger, but he needs one +great stimulus--he needs you. Please don't look at me that way." She +took his hand, and it was limp in her warm grasp. "You know that I've +always taken your part." + +"Yes, mother, God bless you." + +"And you know that I wouldn't advise you against your own +interest--you know, my son, that I love you." + +His hand closed upon hers, and his eyes, which for a moment had been +cold and rebellious, now were warm with the light of affection and +obedience. + +"I will do what you ask," he said. + +"God bless you, my son." + +She arose, and hastening to the door, called: "George! oh, George!" + +Witherspoon answered, and a moment later he came into the room. +"George, our son will take his proper place." + +Henry got up, and the merchant caught him by the hand. "You don't know +how strong this makes me!" He rubbed his eyes and continued: "This is +the first time I have seen you in your true light. You are a strong +man--you are not easily influenced. Sit down; I want to look at you. +Yes, you are a strong man, and you will be stronger. I will buy the +Colton interest--the Witherspoons shall be known everywhere. To-morrow +we will make the arrangements." + +"I start for Mexico to-morrow." + +"Yes, but you'll not be gone long. The trip will be good for you. Let +me have a chair," he said. "Thank you," he added, when a chair had +been placed for him. "I am quite beside myself--I see things in a new +light." He sat down, reached over and took Henry's hands; he shoved +himself back and looked at the young man. "Age is coming on, but I'll +see myself reproduced." + +"But not supplanted," Henry said. + +"No, not until the time comes. But the time must come. Ah, after this +life, what then? To be remembered. But what serves this purpose? A +perpetuation of our interests. After you, your son--the man dies, but +the name lives. No one of any sensibility can look calmly on the +extinction of his name." + +He arose with a new ease, and with a vigor that had long been absent +from his step, paced up and down the room. "You will not find it a +sacrifice, my son; it will become a fascination. It is not the love of +money, but the consciousness of force. The lion enjoys his own +strength, but the hare is frightened at his own weakness and runs when +no danger is near. Small tradesmen may be ignorant, but a large +merchant must be wise, for his wisdom has made him large. Trade is the +realization of logic, and success is the fruit of philosophy. People +wonder at the achievements of a man whom they take to be ignorant; but +that man has a secret intelligence somewhere; and if they could +discover it they would imitate him. Don't you permit yourself to feel +that any mental force is too high for business. The statesman is but +a business man. Behind the great general is the nation's backbone, and +that backbone is a financier. Let me see, what time is it?" He looked +at his watch. "Come, we will all go to the theater." + +Witherspoon drove Henry to the railway station the next evening, and +during the drive he talked almost ceaselessly. He complimented Henry +upon the wise slowness with which he had made up his mind; there was +always too much of impulse in a quick decision. He pointed his whip at +a house and said: "A lonely old man lives there; he has built up a +fortune, but his name will be buried with him." He spoke of his +religious views. There must be a hereafter, but in the future state +strength must rule; it was the order of the universe, the will of +nature, the decree of eternity. He talked of the books that he had +read, and then he turned to business. In a commercial transaction +there must be no sentiment; financial credit must be guarded as a +sacred honor. Every debt must be paid; every cent due must be +extracted. It might cause distress, but distress was an inheritance of +life. + +To this talk the young man listened vaguely; he said neither yes nor +no, and his silence was taken for close attention. + +When they arrived at the station, Witherspoon got out of the buggy and +with Henry walked up and down the concrete floor along the iron fence. +It was here that the stranger had wonderingly gazed at the crowd as he +held up young Henry's chain. + +"Are you going through New Orleans?" + +"Yes; will be there one day." + +"You are pretty well acquainted in that town, I suppose." + +"With the streets," Henry answered. + +"I wish I could go with you, but I can't. Next year perhaps I can get +away oftener." + +"Yes, if you have cause to place confidence in me." + +"I have the confidence now; all that remains for you to do is to +become acquainted with the details of your new position." + +"And there the trouble may lie." + +"You underrate yourself. A man who can pick up an education can with a +teacher learn to do almost anything." + +"But when I was a boy there was a pleasure in a lesson because I felt +that I was stealing it." + +The merchant laughed and drew Henry closer to him. "If we may believe +the envious, the quality of theft may not be lacking in your future +work," he said. + +After a short silence Henry remarked: "You say that I am to perpetuate +your name." + +"Yes, surely." + +"I suppose, then, that you claim the right to direct me in my +selection of a wife." + +Again the merchant drew Henry closer to him. "Not to direct, but to +advise," he answered. + +"A rich girl, I presume." + +"A suitable match at least." + +"Suitable to you or to me?" + +"To both--to us all. But we'll think about that after a while." + +"I have thought about it; the girl is penniless." + +"What! I hope you haven't committed yourself." They were farther apart +now. + +"Not by what I have uttered--and she may care nothing for me--but my +actions must have said that I love her." + +"What do you mean by 'love her'?" the merchant angrily demanded. + +"Is it possible that you have forgotten?" + +"Of course not," he said, softening. "Who is she?" + +"A girl whose life has been a devotion--an angel." + +"Bosh! That's all romance. Young man, this is Chicago, and Chicago is +the material end--the culmination of the nineteenth century." + +"And this girl is the culmination of purity and divine womanhood--of +love!" He stopped short, looked at Witherspoon, and said: "If you say +a word against her I will not go into the store--I'll set fire to it +and burn it down." + +They were in a far corner, and now, standing apart, were looking at +each other. The young man's eyes snapped with anger. + +"Come, don't fly off that way," said the merchant. "You may choose for +yourself, of course. Oh, you've got some of the old man's +pigheadedness, have you? All right; it will keep men from running over +you." + +He took Henry's arm, and they walked back toward the gate. + +"I won't say anything to your mother about it." + +"You may do as you like." + +"Well, it's best not to mention it yet a while. Will you sell your +newspaper as soon as you return?" + +"Yes." + +"All right. Then there'll be nothing in the way. Your train's about +ready. Take good care of yourself, and come back rested. Telegraph me +whenever you can. Good-by." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +A MOMENT OF ARROGANCE. + + +Henry wandered through the old familiar streets. How vividly came back +the years, the dreary long ago! Here, on a door-step, he had passed +many a nodding hour, kept in half-consciousness by the clank of the +printing-press, waiting for the dawn and his bundle of newspapers. No +change had come to soften the truth of the picture that a by-gone +wretchedness threw upon his memory. The attractive fades, but how +eternal is the desolate! Yonder he could see the damp wall where he +used to hunt for snails, and farther down the narrow street was the +house in which had lived the old Italian woman. "You think I'm a +stranger," he mused, as he passed a policeman, "but I know all this. I +have been in dens here that you have never seen." + +He went to the Foundlings' Home and walked up and down in front of the +long, low building. An old woman, dragging a rocking-chair, came out +on the veranda and sat down. He halted at the gate, stood for a moment +and then rang the bell. A negro opened the gate and politely invited +him to enter. The old woman arose as he came up the steps. + +"Keep your seat, madam." + +"Did you want to see anybody?" she asked. + +"No; and don't let me disturb you." + +He gave her a closer look and thought that he remembered her as the +woman who had taken him on her lap and told him that his father was +dead. + +"No disturbance at all," she answered. "Is there anything I can do for +you?" + +"Yes, I should like to look through this place." + +"Very well, but you may find things pretty badly tumbled up. We're +cleaning house. Come this way, please." + +He saw the corner in which he used to sleep, and there was the same +iron bedstead, with a fever-fretted child lying upon it. He thought of +the nights when he had cried himself to sleep, and of the mornings +when he lay there weaving his fancies while a spider high above the +window was spinning his web. There was the same old smell, and he +sniffed the sorrow of his childhood. + +"How long has this been here?" he asked. + +"He was brought here about two weeks ago." + +"I mean the bedstead. How long has it been in this corner?" + +"Oh, I can't say as to that. I thought you meant the child. I've been +here a long time, and I never saw the bedstead anywhere else. It will +soon be thirty years since I came here. Do you care to go into any of +the other rooms?" + +"No, thank you." + +They returned to the veranda. "Won't you sit down?" the old woman +asked. + +"No, I've but a few moments to stay. By the way, some time ago I met a +man who said that he had lived here when a child. I was trying to +think of his name. Oh, it was a man named Henry DeGolyer, I believe. +Do you remember him?" + +"Yes, but it was a long time ago. I heard somebody say that he lived +in the city here, but he never came out to see us. Oh, yes, I remember +him. He was a stupid little thing, but that didn't keep him from being +mean. He oughtn't to have been taken in here, for he had a father." + +"Did you know his father?" + +"Who? John DeGolyer? I reckon I did, and he wa'n't no manner account, +nuther. He had sense enough, but he throw himself away with liquor. He +painted a picture of my youngest sister, and everybody said that it +favored her mightily, but John wa'n't no manner account." + +"Do you remember his wife?" + +"Not much. He married a young creature down the river and broke her +heart, folks said." + +"Did you ever see her?" + +His voice had suddenly changed, and the old woman looked sharply at +him. + +"Yes, several times. She was a tall, frail, black-eyed creature, and +she might have done well if she hadn't ever met John DeGolyer. But +won't you sit down?" + +"No, thank you, I'm going now. You are the matron, I presume." + +"Yes, sir--have been now for I hardly know how long." + +"If I send some presents to the children will you see that they are +properly distributed?" + +"Yes, but for goodness' sake don't send any drums or horns." + +"I won't. How many boys have you?" + +"Well, we've got a good many, I can tell you. You see, this isn't a +regular foundlings' home. We take up poor children from most, +everywhere. We've got ninety-three boys." + +And how many girls?" + +"We've got a good many of them, too, I can tell you. +Seventy-odd--seventy-five, I think." + +"All right. Now don't forget your promise. Good day, madam." + +He went to a large toy-shop and began to buy in a way that appeared +likely to exhaust the stock. + +"Where do you live?" asked the proprietor of the shop. + +"In Chicago." + +"What, you ain't going to ship these toys there and try to make +anything on them, are you?" + +"No; I want them sent out to the Foundlings' Home. What's your bill?" + +The man figured up four hundred and ten dollars. "Come with me to the +bank," said Henry. + +"Nearly all you Chicago men are rich," remarked the toy merchant as +they walked along. "I've had a notion to sell out and move there +myself. Chicago's reaching out after everything, and New Orleans is +doing more and more trading with her every year. I bought a good many +of these toys from a Chicago drummer. He sells everything--represents +a concern called the Colossus." + +Henry settled for the toys, and then continued his stroll about the +city. A strange sadness depressed him. The old woman's words--"and +broke her heart, folks said"--rang in his ears. Had he been born as a +mere incident of nature, or was it intended that he should achieve +something? Was he an accident or was he designed? When he thought of +his mother, his heart bled; but to think of his father made it beat +with anger. When he became a member of the Witherspoon family, his +conscience had constantly plied him with questions until, worn with +self-argument, he resolved to accept a part of the advantages that +were thrust upon him. Why not all? What sense had he shown in his +obstinacy? What honor had he served? Why should he desire to reserve a +part of a former self? Fortune had not favored his birth, but accident +had thrown him in the way to be rich and therefore powerful. Accident! +What could be more of an accident than life itself? Then came the last +sting. The woman whom he loved, should she become his wife, would +never know her name; his children--but how vain and foolish was such a +questioning. Was his name worth preserving? Should he not rejoice in +the thought that he had thrown it off? He stopped on a corner and +stood in an old doorway, where he had blacked shoes. "George +Witherspoon is right, and I have been a fool," he said. "Nature +despises the weak. I will be rich--I am rich." + +There was no half-heartedness now. His manner changed; there was +arrogance in his step. Rich--powerful! The world had been his enemy +and he had blacked its shoes. Now it should be his servant, and with a +lordly contempt he would tip it for its services. + +He turned into a restaurant, and in a masterful and overbearing way +ordered his dinner. He looked at a man and mused: "He puts on airs, +the fool! I could buy him." + +Several men who had been sitting at a table got up to go out. One of +them pointed at a ragged fellow who, some distance back, was down on +his knees scrubbing the floor. "Zeb, see that man?" + +"What man?" + +"The one scrubbing the floor." + +"That isn't a man--it's a thing. What of it?" + +"Nothing, only he used to be one of the brightest newspaper writers in +this city." + +Henry looked up. + +"Yes--used to write some great stuff, they say." + +"What's his name?" + +"Henry DeGolyer." + +Henry sprang to his feet. He put out his hands, for the room began to +swim round. He looked toward the door, but the men were gone. A waiter +ran to him and caught him by the arm. "Sit down here, sir." + +"No; get away." + +He steadied himself against the wall. The ragged man looked up, moved +his bucket of water, dipped his mop-rag into it and went on with his +work. Henry took a stop forward, and then felt for the wall again. A +death-like paleness had overspread his face, and he appeared vainly to +be trying to shut his staring and expressionless eyes. The waiter took +hold of his arm again. + +"Never mind. I'm all right." + +There were no customers in the room. The scrub-man came nearer. +Shudder after shudder, seeming to come in waves, passed over Henry, +but suddenly he became calm, and slowly he walked toward the rear end +of the room. The scrub-man moved forward and was at Henry's feet. He +reached down and took hold of the man's arm--took the rag out of his +hand. The man looked up. There could be no mistake. He was Henry +Witherspoon. + +"Don't you know me?" DeGolyer asked. + +The man snatched the rag and began again to scrub the floor. + +DeGolyer took hold of his arm. "Get up," he commanded, and the man +obeyed as if frightened. + +"Don't you know me?" + +"No." + +"Don't you remember Hank?" + +"I'm Hank," the man answered. + +"No," said DeGolyer, with a sob, "you are Henry, and I am Hank." + +"No, Henry's dead--I'm Hank." He dropped on his knees again and began +to scrub the floor. + +Just then the proprietor came in. "What's the trouble?" he asked. +"Why, mister, don't pay any attention to that poor fellow. There's no +harm in him." + +"No one knows that better than I," DeGolyer answered. "How long has he +been here--where did he come from?" + +"He came off a ship. The cap'n said that he couldn't use him and asked +me to take him. Been here about five months, I think. They say he used +to amount to something, but he's gone up here," he added, tapping his +head. + +"What's the captain's name--where can I find him?" + +"His ship's in now, I think. Go down to the levee and ask for the +cap'n of the Creole." + +"I will, but first let me tell you that I have come for this man. I +know his father. I'll get back as soon as I can." + +"All right. And if you can do anything for this poor fellow you are +welcome to, for he's not much use round here." + +DeGolyer snatched his hat and rushed out into the street. Not a hack +was in sight; he could not wait for a car, and he hastened toward the +river. He began to run, and a boy cried: "Sick him, Tige." He stopped +suddenly and put his hand to his head. "Have I lost my mind?" he asked +himself. + +"Well, here we are again," some one said. DeGolyer looked round and +recognized the railroad man who had charge of the excursion. + +"I'm glad I met you," DeGolyer replied. "It saves hunting you up." + +"Why, what's the matter? Are you sick?" + +"No, I'm all right, but something has occurred that compels me to +return at once to Chicago." + +"Nothing serious, I hope." + +"No, but it demands my immediate return. I'm sorry, but it can't be +helped. Good-by." + +Again he started toward the river. He upset an old woman's basket of +fruit. She cried out at him, and be saw that she could scarcely totter +after the rolling oranges. He halted and picked them up for her. She +mumbled something; she appeared to be a hundred years old. As he was +putting the fruit into the basket, she struck a note in her mumbling +that caused him to look her full in the face. He dropped the oranges +and sprang back. She was the hag that had taken him from the +Foundlings' Home. He hurried onward. "Great God!" he inwardly cried, +"I am covered with the slime of the past." + +Without difficulty he found the captain of the Creole. "I don't know +very much about the poor fellow," he said. "I run across him nearly +six months ago fit a little place called Dura, on the coast of Costa +Rica. He was working about a sort of hotel, scrubbing and taking care +of the horses; and I guess I shouldn't have paid any attention to him +if I hadn't heard somebody say that he was an American; and it struck +me as rather out of place that an American should be scrubbing round +for those fellows, and I began to inquire about him. The landlord said +that he was brought there sick, a good while ago, and was left for +dead, but just as they were about to bury him he came to, and got up +again after a few weeks. A priest told me that his name was Henry +DeGolyer, and I said that it didn't make any difference what his name +might be, I was going to take him back to the United States, so that +if he had to clean out stables and scrub he might do it for white +folks at least; for I am a down-east Yankee, and I haven't any too +much respect for those fellows. Well, I brought him to New Orleans. I +couldn't do much for him, being a poor man myself, but I got him a +place in a restaurant, where he could get enough to eat, anyhow. I've +since heard that he used to be a newspaper man, but this was disputed. +Some people said that the newspaper DeGolyer was a black-haired +fellow. But that didn't make any difference--I did the best I could." + +"And you shall he more than paid for your trouble," said DeGolyer. + +"Well, we won't argue about that. If you've got any money to spare +you'd better give it to him." + +"What is your name?" + +"Atkins--just Cap'n Atkins." + +"Where do you get your mail?" + +"Well, I don't get any to speak of. A letter sent in care of the +wharfmaster will reach me all right." + +DeGolyer got into a hack and was rapidly driven to the restaurant. +Young Witherspoon had completed his work and was in the kitchen, +sitting on a box with a dirty-looking bundle lying beside him. + +"Come, Henry," DeGolyer said, taking his arm. + +"No; not Henry--Hank. Henry's dead." + +"Come, my boy." + +Witherspoon looked up, and closing his eyes, pressed the tips of his +fingers against them. + +"My boy." + +"He got up and turned to go with DeGolyer, who held his arm, but +perceiving that he had left his bundle, pulled back and made an effort +to reach it. + +"No, we don't want that," said DeGolyer. + +"Yes, clothes." + +"No, we'll get better clothes. Come on." + +DeGolyer took him to a Turkish bath, to a barbershop, and then to a +clothing store. It was now evening and nearly time to take the train +for Chicago. They drove to the hotel and then to the railway station. + +The homeward journey was begun, and the wheels kept on repeating: "A +father and a mother and a sister, too." DeGolyer did not permit +himself to think. His mind had a thousand quickenings, but he killed +them. Young Witherspoon looked in awe at the luxury of the +sleeping-car; he gazed at the floor as if he wondered how it could be +scrubbed. At first he refused to sit on the showy plush, and even +after DeGolyer's soothing and affectionate words had relieved his fear +of giving offense, he jumped to his feet when the porter came through +the car, and in a trembling fright begged his companion to protect +him against the anger of the head waiter. + +"Sit down, my dear boy. He is not a head waiter--he is your servant." + +"Is he?" + +"Yes, and must wait on you." + +At this he doubtfully shook his head, and he continued to watch the +porter until assured that he was not offended, and then timidly +offered to shake hands with him. + +When bed-time came young Witherspoon refused to take off his clothes. +He was afraid that some one might steal them, and no argument served +to reassure him; and even after he had lain down, with his clothes on, +he took off a red neck-tie which he had insisted upon wearing, and for +greater security put it into his pocket. DeGolyer lay beside him, and +for a time Witherspoon was quiet, but suddenly he rose up and began to +mutter. + +"What's the matter, Henry?" + +"Not Henry--Hank. Henry's dead." + +"Well, what's the matter, Hank?" + +"Want my hat." + +"It's up there. We'll get it in the morning." + +"Want it now." + +DeGolyer got his hat for him, and he lay with it on his breast. How +dragging a night it was! Would the train never run from under the +darkness out into the light of day? And sometimes, when the train +stopped, DeGolyer fancied that it had run ahead of night and +perversely was waiting for the darkness to catch up. The end was +coming, and what an end it might be! + +The day was dark and rainy; the landscape was a flat dreariness. A +buzzard flapped his heavy wings and flew from a dead tree; a yelping +dog ran after the train; a horse, turned out to die, stumbled along a +stumpy road. + +It was evening when the train reached Chicago. DeGolyer and young +Witherspoon took a cab and were driven to a hospital. The case was +explained to the physician in charge. He said that the mental trouble +might not be due to any permanent derangement of the brain; it was +evident that he had not been treated properly. The patient's nervous +system was badly shattered. The case was by no means hopeless. He +could not determine the length of time it might require to restore him +to physical health, which meant, he thought, a mental cure as well. + +"Three months?" DeGolyer asked. + +"That long, at least." + +"I will leave him with you, and I urge you not to stop short of the +highest medical skill that can be procured in either this country or +in Europe. As to who this young man is or may turn out to be, that +must be kept as a secret. I will call every day. Henry"-- + +"Hank." + +"All right, Hank. Now, I'm going to leave you here, but I'll be back +soon." + +"No; they'll steal my clothes!" he cried, in alarm. + +"No, they won't; they'll give you more clothes. You stay here, and I +will bring you something when I come back." + +DeGolyer went to a hotel. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +A MOST PECULIAR FELLOW. + + +Early the next morning George Witherspoon was pacing the sidewalk in +front of his house when DeGolyer came up. The merchant was startled. + +"Why, where did you come from!" he exclaimed. + +"I thought it best to get back as soon as possible," DeGolyer +answered, shaking hands with him. "The truth is, I met a man who +caused me to change my plans. He wants to buy my paper, and so I came +back with him." + +"Good enough, my dear boy. We'll go down immediately after breakfast +and close with him one way or another. I am delighted, I assure you. +Why, I missed you every minute of the time. See how I have already +begun to rely on you? I haven't said a word to your mother about that +angel. Hah, you'd burn down the Colossus, would you? Why, bless my +life, you rascal." + +"Who is that?" Ellen cried as they entered the hall; and with an airy, +early-morning grace she came running down the stairway. "Oh, nobody +can place any confidence in what you say," she declared, kissing him. +"Goodness alive, man, you look as if you hadn't slept a wink since you +left home." Just then Mrs. Witherspoon came out of the dining-room. +"Mother," Ellen called, "here's one of your mother's people, and he's +darker than ever." + +Mrs. Witherspoon fondly kissed him before she gave Ellen the usual +look of gentle reproach. "You must have known how much we missed you, +my son, and that is the reason you came home. And you're just in time +for breakfast. Ellen, _will_ you please get out of the way? And what +do you mean by saying that he's darker than ever?" Here she gave +DeGolyer an anxious look. "But you are not ill, are you, my son?" + +"Ill!" Witherspoon repeated, with resentment. "Of course he's not ill. +What do you mean by ill? Do you expect a man to travel a thousand +miles and then look like a rose? Is breakfast ready? Well, come then. +We've got business to attend to." + +"Now, as to this man who wants to buy my paper," said DeGolyer, when +they were seated at the table, "let me tell you that he is a most +peculiar fellow, and if he finds that I am anxious to sell, he'll back +out. Therefore I don't think you'd better see him, father." + +"Nonsense, my dear boy; I can make him buy in three minutes." + +"That may be, but you might scare him off in one minute. He's an +old-maidish sort of fellow, and is easily frightened. You'd better let +me work him." + +"All right, but don't haggle. There are transactions in which men are +bettered by being beaten, and this is one of them." + +"Yes, but it isn't well to let eagerness rush you into a folly." + +"Ah, but in this affair folly was at the other end--at the buying." + +"Then, with a wise sale, let us correct that folly." + +"All right, but without haggling. When are you to meet this man +again?" + +"At noon." + +"And when shall I see you?" + +"Immediately after the deal is closed." + +On DeGolyer's part the day was spent in the spinning of the threads of +excuses. He might explain a week's delay, but how was he to account +for a three months' put-off? And if at the end of that time young +Witherspoon's case should be pronounced hopeless what course was then +to be taken? + +He did not see George Witherspoon again until dinner-time. The +merchant met him with a quick inquiry. "We will discuss it in the +library, father," DeGolyer answered. + +"But can't you tell me now whether or not it has come out all right?" + +"I think it's all right, but you may not. But let as wait until after +dinner." + +When they went into the library Witherspoon hastily lighted his cigar, +and sat down in his leather-covered chair. "Well, how did it come +out?" he asked. + +DeGolyer did not sit down. Evidently he expected to remain in the room +but a short time. + +"I told you that he was a very peculiar fellow." + +"Yes, I know that. What did you do with him?" + +"Well, the deal isn't closed yet. He wants to go into the office and +work three months before he decides." + +"Tell him to go to the devil!" Witherspoon exclaimed. + +"No, I can't do that." + +"Why can't you? Do you belong to him? Have you a consideration for +everybody but me?" + +"I very nearly belong to him." + +"You very nearly belong to him!" Witherspoon cried. "What in the name +of God do you mean? Have you lost your senses?" + +"My senses are all right, but my situation is peculiar." + +"I should think so. Henry, I don't want to fly all to pieces. Lately, +and with your help, I have pulled myself strongly together, and now I +beg of you not to pull me apart." + +"Father, some time ago you said that we have more control over +ourselves than we exercise; and now I ask you to exert a little of +that control. The sense of obligation has always been strong in me, +and I feel that it is largely developed in you. I said that I very +nearly belonged to this man, and I will tell you why; and don't be +impatient, but listen to me for a few minutes. A number of years ago +uncle left me in New Orleans and went on one of his trips to South +America. He had not been gone long when yellow fever broke out. It was +unusually fatal, and the city, though long accustomed to the disease, +was panic-stricken. I was one of the early victims. Every member of +the family I boarded with died within a week, and I was left in the +house alone. This man, this peculiar fellow, Nat Parker, found me, +took charge of me and did not leave me until I was out of danger. Of +course, there was no way to reward him--you can merely stammer your +gratitude to the man who has saved your life. He told me that the time +might come when I could do him a good turn. Well, I met him the other +day in New Orleans, and I incidentally spoke of my intention to sell +my paper. He said that he would buy it. I told him that I would make +him a present of it, but he resentfully replied that he was not a +beggar. I came back with him to Chicago, and afraid that any +interference might offend him, I told you that you should have +nothing to do with the transaction. He has an ambition to become known +as a newspaper man, and he foolishly believes that I am a great +journalist. So he declares that for three months he must serve under +me. What could I say? Could I tell him that I would dispose of the +paper to some one else? I was compelled to accept his terms. I +insisted that he should live with us during the time, but he objected. +He swore that he must not be introduced to any of my people--to be +petted like a dog that has saved a child's life. And there's the +situation." + +Witherspoon's cigar had fallen to the floor. Some time elapsed before +he spoke, and when he did speak there was an unnatural softness in his +voice. "Strange story," he said. "No wonder you are peculiar when you +have been thrown among such peculiar people. If your friend were a +sane man, we could deal with him in a sensible manner, but as he is +not we must let him have his way. But suppose that at the end of three +months he is tired of the paper?" + +"I will sell it or give it away. But there'll be no trouble about +that. It's a valuable piece of property, and I will swear to you that +if at the end of that time Henry Witherspoon does not go into the +Colossus with his father, it will be the father who keeps him out. Now +promise me that you won't worry." + +Witherspoon got up and took Henry's hand. "You have done the best you +could, my son. It is peculiar and unbusinesslike, but we can't help +that." + +"Will you explain to mother?" + +"Yes, but the more I look at it the stranger it seems. I don't know, +however, that it is so strange after all. He is simply a chivalrous +crank of the South, and we must humor him. But I'll be glad when all +this nonsense is over." + +DeGolyer sat in his room, smoking his pipe. He looked at his +reflection in the mirror, and said: "Oh, what a liar you are! But your +day for truth is coming." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +THE TIME WAS DRAWING NEAR. + + +One morning, when DeGolyer called at the hospital, young Witherspoon +said to him: "You are Hank, and I'm Henry." And this was the first +indication that his mind was regaining its health. + +Every day George Witherspoon would ask: "Well, how's your peculiar +friend getting along?" And one evening, when he made this inquiry, +DeGolyer answered: "He is so much pleased that he doesn't think it +will take him quite three months to decide." + +"Good enough, but why doesn't he decide now?" + +"Because it would hardly be in keeping with his peculiar methods. I +haven't questioned him, but occasionally he drops a hint that leads me +to believe that he's satisfied." + +DeGolyer was once tempted to tell Richmond and McGlenn that he was +feeling his way through a part that had been put upon him, but with +this impulse came a restraining thought--the play was not yet done. +They were at luncheon, and McGlenn had declared that DeGolyer was +sometimes strangely inconsistent. + +"I admit that I am, John, and with an explanation I could make you +stare at me." + +"Then let us have the explanation. Man was made to stare as well as to +mourn." + +"No, not now; but it will come one of these days, though perhaps not +directly from me." + +"Ah, you have killed a mysterious lion and made a riddle; but where +is the honey you found in the carcass? Give us the explanation." + +"Not now. But one of these bleak Chicago days you and Richmond will +sit in the club, watch the whirling snow and discuss me, and you both +will say that you always thought there was something strange about +me." + +"And we do," McGlenn replied. "Here's a millionaire's son, and he has +chosen toil instead of ease. Isn't that an anomaly, and isn't such an +anomaly a strange thing? But will the outcome of that vague something +cause us to hold you at a cooler length from us--will that 'I told you +so' result in your banishment? Shall we send a Roger Williams over the +hills?" + +"John, what are you trying to get at?" Richmond asked. + +McGlenn looked serenely at him. "Have you devoured your usual quota of +pickles? If so, writhe in your misery until I have dined." + +"I writhe, not with what I have eaten, but at what I see. Is there a +more distressing sight than an epicure--or a gourmand, rather--with a +ragged purse?" + +"Oh, yes; a stuffer, a glutton without a purse." + +Richmond laughed. "Hunger may force a man to apparent gluttony," he +said, "and a sandbagger may have taken his purse; and all on his part +is honesty. But there is pretense--which I hold is not honest--in an +effort to be an epicure." + +"Ah, which you hold is not honest. A most rare but truthful avowal, +since nothing you hold is honest." + +"In my willingness to help the weak," Richmond replied, "I have held +your overcoat while you put it on." + +"And it was not an honest covering until you took your hands off." + +"Neither did it cover honesty until some other man put it on by +mistake," Richmond rejoined. + +DeGolyer went to his office, and Richmond and McGlenn, wrangling as +they walked along, betook themselves to the Press Club. "I tell you," +said McGlenn, as they were going up the stairs, "that he needs our +sympathy. He has suffered, but having suffered, he is great." + +Thus the weeks were sprinkled with light incidents, and thus the days +dripped into the past--and a designated future was drawing near. + +"Well," Witherspoon remarked one Sunday morning, "the time set by your +insane friend will soon be up." + +"Yes, within a week," DeGolyer replied. + +"I should think that he is more in need of apartments in an asylum +than of a newspaper; but if he thinks he knows his business, all +right; we have nothing to say. What has he agreed to give for the +paper?" + +"No price has been fixed, but there'll be no trouble about that." + +"I hope not." + +"Did you understand mother and Ellen to say they were going out +shopping to-morrow afternoon?" DeGolyer asked. + +"Yes, but what of it?" + +"There's this of it: If they decide to go, I want you to meet me here +at three o'clock." + +"Why can't you meet me at the store?" + +"Don't I tell you that my friend is peculiar?" + +"Oh, it's to meet him, eh? All right, I'll be here." + +His play was nearing the end. To-morrow he must snatch "the make-up" +off his face. He felt a sadness that was more than half a joy. He +should be free; he should be honest, and being honest, he could summon +that most sterling of all strength, a manly self-respect. He had +thought himself strong, but had found himself weak. The love of money, +which at first had seemed so gross, at last had conquered him. This +thought did not sting him now; it softened him, made him look with a +more forgiving eye upon tempted human nature. But was it money that +had tempted him to turn from a purpose so resolutely formed? Had not +Witherspoon's argument and Ellen's persuasion left him determined to +reserve one refuge for his mind--one closet wherein he could hang the +cast-off garment of real self? Then it was the appeal of that gentle +woman whom he called mother; it was not money. But after yielding to +the mother he had found himself without a prop, and at last he had +felt a contempt for a moderate income and had boasted to himself that +he could buy a man. And for this he reproached himself. How grim was +that something known as fate, how mockingly did it play with the +children of men, and in that mockery how cold a justice! But he should +be free, and that thought thrilled him. + +In the afternoon he went over to the North Side, and along a modest +street he walked, looking at the houses as if hunting for a number. He +went up a short flight of wooden steps and rang the bell of the second +flat. The hall door was open, and a moment later he saw Miss Drury at +the head of the stairs. + +"Why, is that you, Mr. Witherspoon?" + +"Yes; may I come up?" + +"What a question! Of course you may, especially as I am as lonesome +as I can be." + +He was shown into a neat sitting-room, where a canary bird "fluttered" +his hanging cage up and down. A rose was pinned on one of the white +curtains. The room was warmed by a stove, and through the isinglass +the playful flame could be seen. She brought a "tidied" rocking-chair, +and smiling in her welcome, said that as this was his first visit, she +must make him comfortable. "Don't you see," she added, "that you +constantly make me forget that I am working for you?" + +"And don't you know," he answered, "that you are most pleasing when +you do forget it? But I am to infer that you wouldn't give me the +rocking-chair if you didn't forget that you were working for me?" + +"You must infer nothing," she said. "But am I most pleasing when I +forget? Then I will not remember again. It is a woman's duty to be +pleasing; and her advantage, too, for when she ceases to please she +loses many of her privileges." + +DeGolyer went to the window, took the rose, brought it to her and +said: "Put this in your hair." + +She looked up as she took the rose; their eyes met and for a moment +they lived in the promise of a delirious bliss. She looked down as she +was putting the flower in her hair. He spoke an idle word that meant +more than old Wisdom's speech, and she answered with a laugh that was +nearly a sob. He thirsted to take her in his arms, to tell her of his +love, but his time was not yet come--he was still Henry Witherspoon. + +"How have you spent the day?" she asked. + +"I'm thinking of to-morrow." + +"And will to-morrow be so important?" + +"Yes, the most important day of my life." + +"Oh, tell me about it." + +"I will to-morrow." + +"Well, I suppose I shall have to wait, but I wish you would tell me +just a little bit of it." + +"To tell a little would be to tell all. The story is not yet +complete." + +"Oh, is it a story? And is it one that you are writing?" + +"No, one that I am living. It is a strange tale." + +"I know it must be interesting, but what has to-morrow to do with it?" + +"It will be completed then." + +"I don't understand you; I never did. I've often thought you the +saddest man I have ever seen, and I've wondered why. You ought not to +be sad--fortune is surely a friend of yours. You live in a grand +house, and your father is a power in this great community. All the +advantages of this life are within your reach; and if you can find +cause to be sad, what must be the condition of people who have to +struggle in order to live!" + +"The summing-up of what you say means that I ought to be thankful." + +"Yes, you were stolen, it is true, but you were restored, and +therefore, by contrast and out of gratitude, you should be happier +than if you had never been taken away." + +"All that is true so far as it _is_ true," he replied. "And let me say +that I'm not so sad as you suppose. Do you care if I smoke here?" + +"Not at all." + +He lighted a cigar and sat smoking in silence. A boy shouted in the +hall, a dog barked, and a cat sprang up from a doze under a table, +looked toward the door, gave himself a humping stretch, and then lay +down again. + +Whenever DeGolyer looked at the girl, a new expression, the rosy tinge +of a strange confusion, flew to her countenance. His talk evoked a +self-possessed reply, but over his silence an embarrassment was +brooding. She seemed to be in fear of something that sweetly she +expected. + +"I may not be at the office to-morrow until evening, but will you wait +for me?" + +"Yes." + +"And when I come, I'll be myself." + +"Be yourself? Who are you now?" + +"Another man." + +"Oh, then I shall be glad to see you." + +"I don't know as to that. You may have strong objections to my real +self." + +"You are _so_ mysterious." + +"To-day, yes; to-morrow, no." + +He was leaning back, blowing rings of smoke, and was looking up at +them. + +"Perhaps I shouldn't say it," she said, "but during the last three +months you have appeared stranger than ever." + +"Yes," he drawlingly replied, "for during the last three months it was +natural that I should be stranger than ever." + +"I do wish I knew what you mean." + +"And when you have been told you may wish you had never known." + +"Is it so bad as that?" + +"Worse." + +"Worse than what?" + +"Than anything you imagine." + +"Oh, you are simply trying to tease me, Mr. Witherspoon." + +"Do you think so? Then we'll say no more about it." + +"Oh, but that's worse than ever. Well, I don't care; I can wait." + +They talked on subjects in which neither of them was interested, but +sympathy was in their voices. Gradually--yes, now it seemed for +months--they had been floating toward that fern-covered island in the +river of life where a thoughtless word comes back with an echo of +love; where the tongue may be silly, but where the eye holds a +redeemed soul, returned from God to gaze upon the only remembered +rapture of this earth. + +She went with him to the head of the stairway. "Don't leave the office +before I come," he called, looking back at her. + +"You know I won't," she answered. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +TOLD HIM A STORY. + + +At the appointed time, the next day, George Witherspoon was waiting in +his library. DeGolyer came in a cab, and when he got out, he told the +driver to wait. + +"Where is your friend?" Witherspoon asked as DeGolyer entered the +room. + +"He'll be here within a few minutes." + +"Confound him, I'm getting sick of his peculiarities." + +The merchant sat down; DeGolyer stood on the hearth-rug. The time was +come, and he had been strong, but now a shiver crept over him. + +"My friend told me a singular story to-day." + +"I don't doubt it; and if his stories are as singular as he is, they +must he marvelous." + +"This story _is_ marvelous, and I think it would interest you. I will +give it to you briefly. There were two young men in a foreign +country"-- + +"I wish he was in a foreign country. I can't wait here all day." + +"He'll be here soon. These two friends were on their way to the sea +coast, and here's where it will strike you. One of them had been +stolen when he was a child, and was now going back to his parents. But +before they reached the coast, the rich man's son--as we'll call the +one who had been stolen--was stricken with a fever. No ship was in +port, and his friend took him to a hotel and got a doctor for him." + +"Wish you'd hand me a match," said Witherspoon. "My cigar's out. Thank +you." + +"Got a doctor for him, but he grew worse. Sometimes he was delirious, +but at times his mind was strangely clear; and once, when he was +rational, he told his friend that he was going to die. He didn't +appear to care very much so far as it concerned himself, but the +thought of the grief that his death would cause his parents seemed to +lie as a cold weight upon his mind. And it was then that he made a +most peculiar request. He compelled his friend to promise to take his +name; to go to his home; to be a son to his father and mother. His +friend begged, but had to yield. Well, the rich man's son died, we'll +suppose, and the poor fellow took his name on the spot. He had to +leave hurriedly, for a father and a mother and a sister were waiting +in a distant home. A ship that had just come was ready to sail, and a +month might pass before the landing of another vessel. He went to +these people as their son"-- + +"Oh, yes," said Witherspoon, "and fell in love with the sister, and +then had to tell his story." + +"No, he didn't. He loved the girl, but only as a brother should. He +was not wholly acceptable to his father, but"-- + +"Ah, that's all very well," said Witherspoon, "but what proof had he?" + +DeGolyer met Witherspoon's careless look and held it with a firm gaze. +And slowly raising his hand, he said: "He held up a gold chain." + +Witherspoon sprang to his feet and exclaimed: "My God, he's crazy!" + +"Wait!" + +The merchant had turned toward the door. He halted and looked back. + +"George Witherspoon"-- + +"I thought so--crazy. Merciful God, he's mad!" + +"Will you listen to me for a moment--just a moment--and I will prove +to you that I'm not crazy. I am not your son--my name is Henry +DeGolyer. Wait, I tell you!" Witherspoon had staggered against the +door-case. "I am not your son, but your son is not dead. I took his +place; I thought it a promise made to a dying man." + +"What!" he whispered. His voice was gone. "You--you"-- + +DeGolyer ran to him and eased him into his chair. "Your son is here, +and the man who has brought nothing but ill luck will leave you. I +tried to soften this, but couldn't," Witherspoon's head shook as he +looked up at him. "Wait a moment, and I will call him. No, don't get +up." + +DeGolyer hastened to the front door, and standing on the steps, he +called: "Henry! oh, Henry!" + +"All right, Hank." + +Young Witherspoon got out of the cab and came up the steps. + +"He is waiting for you, Henry." And speaking to the footman, DeGolyer +added: "There's nothing the matter. Send those girls about their +business." + +Young Witherspoon followed DeGolyer into the library. The merchant was +standing with his shaky hands on the back of a chair. He stepped +forward and tried to speak, but failed. + +"I'm your son. Hank did as I told him. It's all right. I've had a +fever--he's going to fall, Hank!" + +They eased him down into his leather-covered chair. + +"I see it now," the old man muttered. "Yes, I can see it. Come here." + +The young man leaned over and put his arms about his father's neck. "I +will go into the store with you when I get just a little stronger--I +will do anything you want me to. I've had an awful time--awful--but +it's all right now. Hank found me in New Orleans, scrubbing a floor; +but it's all right now." + +"I'll get him some brandy," said DeGolyer. + +"No," Witherspoon objected, "I'll be myself in a minute. Never was so +shocked in my life. Who ever heard of such a thing? Of course you +couldn't soften it. Let me look at you, my son. How do I know what to +believe? No, there's no mistake now." + +He got up, and holding the young man's hands, stood looking at him. +"Who's that?" he asked. + +They heard voices. Mrs. Witherspoon and Ellen were coming down the +hall. DeGolyer stepped hastily to the door. + +"Oh, what are you doing here?" Ellen cried. "I saw somebody--Miss +Miller. She didn't say so, but I know that she wants me to kiss you +for her, and I will." + +"Ellen!" Witherspoon exclaimed, and just then she saw that a stranger +was present. + +"Excuse me," she said. + +DeGolyer took her by the hand, and as Mrs. Witherspoon came up he held +out his other hand to her. He led them both to the threshold of the +library, gently drew them into the room, and quickly stepping out, +closed the door and hastened upstairs. + +As he entered his room he thought that he heard a cry, and he +listened, but naught save a throbbing silence came from below. He sat +down, put his arms on the table, and his head lay an aching weight +upon his arms. After a time he got up, and taking his traveling-bag +from a closet, began to pack it. There was his old pipe, still with a +ribbon tied about the stem. He waited a long time and then went +down-stairs. The library door was closed, and gently he rapped upon +it. Witherspoon's voice bade him enter. + +Mrs. Witherspoon was sitting on a sofa; young Henry was on his knees, +and his head was in her lap. Witherspoon and Ellen were standing near. + +"He is like my father's people," the mother said, fondly stroking his +hair. "All the Springers were light." She looked at DeGolyer, and her +eyes were soft, but for him they no longer held the glow of a mother's +love. DeGolyer put down his bag near the door. + +"Mr. Witherspoon, I hardly know what to say. I came to this house as a +lie, but I shall leave it as a truth. I"-- + +"Hank!" young Henry cried, getting up, "you ain't going away. You are +going to stay here." + +He ran to DeGolyer, seized his hand, and leading him to Ellen, said: +"I have caught you a prince. Take him." And DeGolyer, smiling sadly, +replied, "I love her as a brother." She held out her hands to him. "I +could never think of you as anything else," she said. + +"But you must not leave us," Mrs. Witherspoon declared, coming +forward. + +"Yes, my mission here is ended." + +"You shan't go, Hank," young Witherspoon cried. + +"Henry," said DeGolyer, "I did as you requested. Now it is your time +to obey. Keep quiet!" He stood erect; he had the bearing of a master. +He turned to Witherspoon. "Here is a check for the amount of money you +advanced me, with interest added." + +Witherspoon stepped back. "I refuse to take it," he said. + +"But you _shall_ take it. I have sold the paper at a profit, and it +has made money almost from the first. Do as I tell you. Take this +check." + +The merchant took the check, and it shook in his hand. DeGolyer now +addressed Mrs. Witherspoon. "You have indeed been a mother to me. No +gentler being ever lived, and till the day of my death I shall +remember you with affection." + +"Oh, this is all so strange!" she cried, weeping. + +"Yes, but everything is strange, when we come to think of it. God +bless you. Sister,"--Ellen gave him her hands,--"good-by." + +He kissed the girl, and then kissed Mrs. Witherspoon. Henry came +toward him, but DeGolyer stopped him with a wave of his hand. "My dear +boy, I'm not going out of the world. No, you mustn't grab hold of me. +Stand where you are. You shall hear from me. Mr. Witherspoon, this +time you must get up a statement without my help--I mean for the +newspapers. I know that I have caused you a great deal of worry, but +it is a pretty hard matter to live a lie even when it is imposed as a +duty. By the way, a poor sea captain, Atkins is his name, brought +Henry from Dura. I wish you would send him a check, care Wharfmaster, +New Orleans." + +"I will." + +"Good-by, Mr. Witherspoon." + +"Henry DeGolyer," said Witherspoon, grasping his hand, "you are the +most honorable man I ever met." + +"There, now!" DeGolyer cried, holding up his hand--they all were +coming toward him--"do as I tell you and remain where you are." + +He caught up his bag and hastened out. "To the _Star_ office," he said +to the cabman. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +CONCLUSION. + + +"I'd began to think that you'd forgotten to come," said Miss Drury, as +DeGolyer entered the room. She was sitting at her desk, and hits of +torn paper were scattered about her. + +"I'm sorry that I kept you waiting so long," he replied. He did not +sit down, but stood near her. + +"Oh, it hasn't been so _very_ long," she rejoined. "Why, how you have +changed since yesterday," she added, looking at him. + +"For the worse?" he asked. + +"For the better; you look more like the heir to a great fortune." + +He smiled. "I am an heir to freedom, and that is the greatest of +fortune." + +"Oh, now you are trying to mystify me again; and you said that to-day +you would make everything clear." + +"And I shall. Laura"--she looked up quickly--he repeated, "this is my +last day in this office. I have sold the paper, and the new owner will +take charge to-morrow." + +"I'm sorry," she said, and then added: "But on my part that is +selfishness. Of course you know what is best for yourself." + +"I told you yesterday that my story would be completed to-day. It is, +and I will tell it." + +The latest edition had left the press, and there was scarcely a sound +in the building. The sharp cry of the newsboy came from the street. + +In telling her his story be did not begin with his early life, but +with the time when first he met young Witherspoon. It was a swift +recital; and he sought not to surprise her; he strove to tone down her +amazement. + +"And to-day I took his son to him. I saw the quick transfer of a +mother's love and of a father's interest--I saw a girl half-frightened +at the thought that upon a stranger she had bestowed the intimacies of +a sister's affection. I had made so strong an effort to be honorable +with myself, at least; to persuade myself that I was fulfilling an +honest mission, but had failed, for at last I had fallen to the level +of an ordinary hypocrite; I had found myself to be a purse-proud fool. +When I went into that restaurant my sympathies were dead, and when +that man pointed at the poor menial and said that his name was Henry +DeGolyer"-- + +"No, no," she said, hiding her face, "your sympathies were not dead. +You--you were a hero." + +"I was simply a frozen-blooded fool," he replied. "And now I must tell +you something, but I know that it will make you despise me. My father +was a beast--he broke my mother's heart. The first thing I remember, +her dead arms were about me and a chill was upon me--I knew not the +meaning of death, but I was terrorized by its cold mystery. I cried +out, but no one came, and there in the dark, with that icy problem, I +remained alone"-- + +"Oh, don't," she cried, and her hands seemed to flutter in her lap. +She got up, and putting her arms on the top of the desk, leaned her +head upon them. + +"How could I despise you for that?" she sobbed. + +"Not for that," he bitterly answered, "but for this I was taken to +the Foundlings' Home--was taken from that place to become the +disgraceful property of an Italian hag. She taught me, compelled me to +be a thief. Once she and some ruffians robbed a store and forced me to +help them. I ought to have died before that. She demanded that I +should steal something every day, and if I didn't she beat me. I got +up early one morning and robbed _her_. I took a handful of money out +of her drawer and ran away. But in the street a horror seized me, and +I threw the money in the gutter and fled from it. Don't you see that I +was born a thief? But I have striven so hard since then to be an +honorable man. But don't try not to pity, to despise me. You can't +help it. But, my God, I do love you!" + +She turned toward him with a glory in her eyes, and he caught her in +his arms. + +The old building was silent, and the shout of the newsboy was far +away. + +"Angel of sweet mercy," he said, still holding her in his arms, "let +us leave this struggling place. I know of an old house in Virginia--it +is near the sea, and rest lies in the woods about it. Let us live +there, not to dream idly, but to work, to be a devoted man and his +happy wife. Come." + +He took her hand, and they went out into the hall. The place was +deserted, the elevator was not running, and down the dark stairway he +led her--out into the light of the street. + + +=THE END.= + + * * * * * + +=The Standard Library of Mystery= + + +=PRACTICAL ASTROLOGY= + By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN, the recognized leading authority on all + occult subjects. A plain, practical thorough work on this all + absorbing topic. Over 100 illustrations. + Cloth, special cover in colors, $1.00 + Paper, lithographed cover in five colors, .50 + +=THE STUDY OF PALMISTRY= +=For Professional Purposes and Advanced Pupils= + By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN. The highest, authority on Palmistry. + This excellent work was formerly issued in two volumes at $7.50. New + edition, two volumes bound in one superb imperial octavo volume. + Silk cloth, polished top, 1200 illustrations, $3.56 + +=PRACTICAL PALMISTRY= +=A new edition (65th thousand)= + By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN, author of that standard authority, + _The Study of Palmistry_. Hand-reading made easy and popular. + Cloth, 71 illustrations, among them 16 hands of + celebrities, unique cover, 75c + +=PRACTICAL HYPNOTISM.= +=Theories. Experiments, Full Instructions= + By COMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN. From the works of the great medical + authorities on the subject. Clear, simple style that will interest + everybody. _How to produce and to stop Hypnotic Sleep._ How to + cure disease by its use. + Cloth, special cover design in colors, 75c + +=HERRMANN THE GREAT; The Famous Magician's Tricks= + By H.J. BURLINGAME. Illustrated. Scores of explanations of the most + puzzling tricks of the greatest of all conjurers, never before + published. All apparatus described. + Cloth, special cover design in colors, 75c + +=THE GREAT DREAM BOOK= + By MADAME CARLOTTA DE BARSY. With a _New List of Lucky Numbers_. + Brilliant explanations of all possible dreams. + Cloth, unique cover, extra half-tone, 75c + +=TWENTIETH CENTURY FORTUNE TELLER= + By MADAME CARLOTTA DE BARSY. Strange revelations through the _Magic + Circle_. Every possible event foretold. + Cloth, extra half-tone, unique cover, 75c + +=THE SPIRIT WORLD UNMASKED= + By H.R. EVANS. Tricks and frauds or clairvoyants, mind readers, slate + writers, etc., fearlessly exposed. Life and work of Madame Blavatsky. + Illustrated. + 12mo, extra cloth, burnished top, 75c + + +For sale everywhere, or sent postpaid on receipt of price, by +=LAIRD & LEE, 263-265 WABASH AVE., CHICAGO, U.S.A.= + + * * * * * + +=GOOD READING= + +=BOOKS IN THE FAMOUS "PASTIME" SERIES= +Illustrated paper covers, =25c each= + + +=Opie Read's Works= + Lithographed Covers. + +The Harkriders. +The Starbuck. +The Carpetbagger. +Old Ebenezer. +My young Master. +The Jucklins. +On the Suwanee River. +The Colossus. +A Tennessee Judge. +Emmett Bonlore. +A Kentucky Colonel. +Len Gansett. +The Tear in the Cup and Other Stories. +The Wives of the Prophet. + + +=Wm. H. Thomes' Tales of Adventures= + Lithographed Covers. + +Daring Deeds. +The Ocean Rovers. +The Bushrangers. +Lewey and I. +On Land and Sea. +Running the Blockade. +The Belle of Australia. +A Goldhunter's Adventures. +A Manila Romance. +A Slaver's Adventures. +A Whaleman's Adventures. +The Goldhunters in Europe. + + +=Lawrence L. Lynch's= +=HIGH CLASS DETECTIVE STORIES= + Lithographed Covers. + +The Danger Line. +The Woman Who Dared. +High Stakes. +The Unseen Hand. +The Last Stroke. +The Lost Witness. +Shadowed by Three. +A Slender Clue. +Dangerous Ground. +Madeline Payne. +A Mountain Mystery. +The Diamond Coterie. +Romance of a Bomb Thrower. +Out of a Labyrinth. + + +=Max Nordau's Best Books= + +Paris Sketches. +Paradoxes. +Conventional Lies of Our Civilization. + + +=Dr. N.T. Oliver's Novels= + Lithographed Covers. + +An Unconscious Crime. +The Fateful Hand. +A Woman of Nerve. +A Desperate Deed. + + +=Miscellaneous= + + Lithographed Covers. +Practical Hypnotism, St. Germain +Black Rock, Ralph Conner +Fogg's Ferry, C.E. Callahan +Michael Carmichael, Miles Sandys +Elizabeth and Her German Garden. +Wed by Mighty Waves, Sue Greenleaf +Samantha at Saratoga. Illustrated by F. Opper, Josiah Allen's Wite +Tabernacle Talks, Geo. F. Hall +The Great Dream Book with Lucky Numbers. +20th Century Fortune-Teller. Illust'd. +Madame Bovary, Flaubert +A.D. 2000, A.M. Fuller +Camille, Dumas +The Lady With the Pearl Necklace, Dumas + +Rescued from Fiery Death--Iroquois Theater Romance, Wesley A. Stanger +Cousin Betty, Balzac +Crime and Punishment, Dostoieffsky +Herrmann the Great. The Famous Magicians Tricks. Illustrated, Burlingame +Her Sisters Rival, Albert Delpit +A Man of Honor, Feuillet +The Story of Three Girls, Fawcett +Sappho, Daudet +The Woman of Fire, Adolphe Belot +Sell Not Thyself, Winnifred Kent +Hulda: A Romance of the West, Mrs. Shuey +The American Monte Cristo, F.C. Long +Doctor Rameau, Georges Ohnet +The Mummer's Wife, George Moore +A Modern Lover, George Moore +Fettered by Fate, Emma F. Southworth +The Jolly Songster. Words and Music. Lover or Husband, Chas. de Bernard +Dr. Phillips, Frank Danby +The Lost Diamond, D.G. Adee +How Men Make Love and Get Married. +The Chouans, Honore de Balzac +Famous Romances of Voltaire, Voltaire +The Countess' Love, Prosper Merimee +Dr. Perdue, Stinson Jarvis + + +For sale everywhere, or sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by +=Laird & Lee, 263-265 Wabash Ave., Chicago= + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Colossus, by Opie Read + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COLOSSUS *** + +***** This file should be named 15073.txt or 15073.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/0/7/15073/ + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/15073.zip b/15073.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c542c23 --- /dev/null +++ b/15073.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0d27a00 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #15073 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15073) |
