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diff --git a/old/51982-h/51982-h.htm b/old/51982-h/51982-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index d4670db..0000000 --- a/old/51982-h/51982-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8092 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!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" lang="en"> - <head> - <title> - Simeon Tetlow's Shadow, by Jennette Lee - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Simeon Tetlow's Shadow, by Jennette Lee - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Simeon Tetlow's Shadow - -Author: Jennette Lee - -Release Date: May 3, 2016 [EBook #51982] -Last Updated: February 20, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIMEON TETLOW'S SHADOW *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - - - - - -</pre> - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - SIMEON TETLOW’S SHADOW - </h1> - <h2> - By Jennette Lee - </h2> - <h4> - New York: The Century Co. - </h4> - <h3> - 1909 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0011.jpg" alt="0011 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0011.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0012.jpg" alt="0012 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0012.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <h3> - TO - </h3> - <h3> - GERALD STANLEY LEE - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> SIMEON TETLOW’S SHADOW </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> X </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XXI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVIII </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - SIMEON TETLOW’S SHADOW - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - I - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was turning dusk - in the office, though it was scarcely three o’clock and outside the - sun was still shining, beyond the busy streets. The two men sitting on - opposite sides of the small room bent closer to their desks. The younger - glanced up and got up to turn on the electric light. The little scowl that - had begun to form itself on the face of the older man changed to a look of - relief. His pen moved faster over the paper. - </p> - <p> - The older man was Simeon Tetlow, President of the “R. and Q.” - Railroad. It might almost be said that he <i>was</i> the road. Its minute - ramifications and its great divisions were hardly more than the nerves and - arteries that threaded Simeon Tetlow’s thin frame. And the orders - that went out from the tiny office, high up in the big block, were the - play of his flitting finger-tips upon the keyboard of the whole clanking - system. The tiny, shriveled figure gave no hint of the power that ticked - carloads of live stock and human beings to their destination and laid its - hand upon roads half dead, or dying, or alive and kicking, sweeping them - gently into the system, with hardly a gulp. - </p> - <p> - Simeon Tetlow was an iron man, wiry and keen—an intellect without - heart or soul or conscience, his co-workers would have told you. Each new - road absorbed, each influx of power, seemed only to tighten a spring - somewhere inside that shot the bolt. He conld work day and night without - tiring; and that was the reason, in part, why at forty-two he was - president of the “R. and Q.” road; and the reason why at - forty-two his hand, when it reached out for its abstemious glass of water, - trembled so that it was quickly withdrawn. No one knew the man. No one - guessed the nervous horror that often racked the small frame driven - relentlessly by its big brain. - </p> - <p> - He reached out for a slip of paper that lay at hand and ran his eye over - it, jotting down a few figures. Then he pushed it to one side and went on - writing. The younger man came across the office and laid another slip of - paper on the desk. He took the one that had been pushed aside, made a - memorandum on it, and filed it in a pigeon-hole at the right. He was a - short, young man, with broad shoulders and a round face. The face as it - bent above the slip of paper had a dull look. There was a kind of patience - in it not usual in so young a man, and when he turned his eyes to his - employer they glowed with a clear light, as if something were shining - behind them. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, John?” The man reached out a nervous, groping - hand. His gaze had not left the page before him. - </p> - <p> - “This one next, sir.” The young man touched the outstretched - hand with the slip of paper. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes.” It was almost testy. - </p> - <p> - The other returned to his desk and the scratching pens raced with the - minutes. - </p> - <p> - A call-boy entered with a handful of letters. The young man took them and - ran them through his fingers. He arranged them in piles, reserving a part - for himself. These he read, making notes and filing them rapidly. One - letter, the one at the bottom of the pack, was not addressed to the great - corporation, but—in a fine, small hand—to “John Bennett.” - He read this one last, looking thoughtfully at the lines and folding it - with slow fingers. The patient look was still in his face, but the light - of the eyes was gone. It seemed to have sunk back, leaving the flesh dull - and heavy. - </p> - <p> - His employer glanced up suddenly. His quick eye sought the electric bulb, - with a flash of impatience, and returned to its work. - </p> - <p> - The young man rose and turned on more lights. He moved about the room, - putting things away for the night. - </p> - <p> - Simeon Tetlow finished his letters and pushed them from him. The young man - came across and began to gather them up. His dull face came in range of - his employer’s eye. - </p> - <p> - “Give those I ’ve marked to Hanscom. Have the rest ready in - the morning. I shall dictate.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” The young man finished gathering them up. - </p> - <p> - The man glanced again, half-impatiently, at the heavy face. The room - seemed suddenly gloomy, in spite of the red-hot wires looping the light - about them. - </p> - <p> - The young man brought a hat and coat and laid them beside his employer. - “May I speak to you a minute, sir?” he asked as he put them - down. - </p> - <p> - The other glanced again, sharply, at his face. “Go ahead.” His - hand was reaching for the hat. - </p> - <p> - “I shall have to hand in my resignation, sir.” The young man - said it slowly, as if repeating something he had learned by heart. - </p> - <p> - The hand on the hat drew back. “What ’s that?” He - laughed curtly and shot a look of suspicion at the impassive face. “More - money?” - </p> - <p> - The face flushed. “No, sir.” He hesitated a little. “My - mother is sick.” - </p> - <p> - “Umph!” The man’s face cleared. “You don’t - need to resign for <i>that</i>.” He did not ask what was the matter - with the mother. He had not known that John had a mother. She seemed to be - springing into existence very inconveniently. “Get a nurse,” - he said. - </p> - <p> - “She has had a nurse. But she needs me, I think.” He did not - offer more details. - </p> - <p> - The older man shrugged his shoulders a little—a quick shrug. He - pushed forward a chair with his foot. “Sit down. Your father dead?” - quickly. - </p> - <p> - “No, sir. But—father is—father.” He said it with a - little smile. “She’s never had anybody but me,” he went - on quickly. “She’s been sick ever since I was a little thing, - and I’ve taken care of her. It frets her to have a woman around. She - does n’t wash the dishes clean, and her cooking is n’t really - very good.” He was smiling a little as he said it. - </p> - <p> - The man shot a quick look at him. “You ’re going home to wash - dishes?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Um-m.” The fingers played a little tune on the desk. “I - ’ll raise you twenty-five a month. Get a better nurse.” - </p> - <p> - The boy shook his head. “I ’m afraid it would n’t do.” - He was hesitating. “I think she misses me.” - </p> - <p> - “Umph! Very likely!” The man glanced at him over quick - spectacles. “What ’s the matter with her? Sit down.” He - touched the chair again with his foot. - </p> - <p> - The young man sat down. “We don’t know what it is. She cannot - walk—cannot stand—a good deal of the time—and sometimes - she suffers. But it is a kind of nervousness that is hardest to bear. She - cannot lie quiet. Something seems to drive her.” - </p> - <p> - The man nodded. His fingers opened and closed. “What else?” he - said brusquely. - </p> - <p> - “That ’s all—except that it quiets her to have me - around. I can get work in Bridgewater and do the housework nights and - mornings.” - </p> - <p> - The man was scowling at him intently. - </p> - <p> - “It ’s what I ’ve always done, till I came here,” - he said quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Washed dishes and cooked and made beds?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s no work for a <i>man</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “I know.” The dull face smiled a little. “The boys - always called me ’Sissie Johnny.’” - </p> - <p> - “Umph! I ’m glad they did!... ’Sissie Johnny’!” - He smiled grimly and took a card from the desk before him, holding it a - minute in his fingers, snapping it back and forth. “Has she ever - seen a specialist?” - </p> - <p> - The young man shook his head. “No, sir.” The man wrote a few - words on the card and blotted it quickly. “Take her to see Dr. - Blake. He is the best nerve specialist in five hundred miles. If she is n’t - well enough to go to him, have him come to her. I ’ll pay the bill.” - He thrust himself into his hat and coat and got himself out of the room, - shrugging nervously. - </p> - <p> - The young man stood with the card in his hand, looking at it, a little - smile on his lips. Then he went about, turning out all the bulbs but one - and putting away papers and arranging the room for the night. - </p> - <p> - It was a small, rough room—hardly more than a corner cut off from - the top floor by board partitions. The rest of the floor, outside, was - used only for storage. Simeon Tetlow had achieved here what he wanted—complete - solitude. There was, on the first floor, a magnificent apartment with - lordly mahogany chairs, a baize-covered table and oil paintings, where - twice a year he met his directors; and on the floor above it was a - spacious room bearing on its panel the bronze token, “President’s - Office.” It was occupied at present by three young lady typewriters - who clacked their machines and arranged their hair and adjusted the shades - on the plate-glass windows to suit their convenience, while in the little - room at the top of the building the president of the corporation hunched - himself over a four-dollar desk and scowled at the dim light that came - through the half-sized windows. For three days after it was finished, - Simeon Tetlow occupied the spacious room below designed for the president - of the corporation. Then he gathered together his few belongings and fled - to the top. His gigantic brain could only work when free from distraction. - The mere sense that some one might rap, even on the outer door of the - stately office, paralyzed him, and his nervous frame, once set a-jangle, - trembled, and palpitated for hours. The mere forbidding of intrusion was - not sufficient. Some well-meaning idiot, laden with news of importance, - would break over the command, and hours of careful thought would be - whirled aloft in the smoke of Simeon’s wrath. He fled to the loft, - dropping, as it were, a trapdoor behind him. No one was to follow—unless - summoned. No literary man was ever more jealous of solitude. But no mere - literary man could think a railroad into existence or quench a wheat crop - with a nod. If Simeon Tetlow’s body had matched his brain, there - would have been no limit to his power. As it was, he remained a mighty - general without an army, a head without hands and feet. The details of - life frustrated him at every point. He could meet his directors, serene in - the knowledge that the road was prospering beyond all bounds. He could - carry to them the facts and figures and proofs of prosperity—in his - head. But the papers that recorded these facts, the proofs in black and - white, were never forthcoming at the right moment. They took to themselves - wings—of paper; they flitted and skulked and hid; they lay on the - top of the pile before him and grinned at him, their very faces changed to - a diabolic scorn that he should not know them. - </p> - <p> - This was the Simeon Tetlow of three years ago. Then there entered, one - morning, in response to his summons for a call-boy, a short, square youth - with a dull face. Simeon did not note him as he came in. He forgot that he - had called for a boy. His mind was busy with projects of import. When it - came back, with a start, he recognized that some one had been with him, - for ten minutes or more, who had not worried and irritated him by merely - being alive. He shot a keen glance at the dull face. The light of the eyes - was turned to him, waiting to serve him. - </p> - <p> - After that Simeon summoned the boy again and again, on one pretext or - another. He made excuses to see him. He advanced him from post to post. - </p> - <p> - At last, about a year ago, he nodded at a desk that had been installed, - overnight, across the room: “You are to work there and your pay will - be raised a hundred.” - </p> - <p> - The boy took possession of the desk with as little stir as if he had - received some casual order. He did not ask what his work was to be, and - Simeon Tetlow did not tell him. The big brain had found hands and feet—almost, - it might seem, lungs and a few other useful, vital organs—and it - used them, as it had used the nervous, shaking body before—relentlessly. - For the first time in his life Simeon found his papers ready to his hand. - He attended his first directors’ meeting, sitting at the head of the - green baize table, like a man in a dream. The right paper slipped to his - finger-tips and lingered there; the figures formed themselves in seemly - ranks and marched up and down the green baize parade in orderly file. The - effect upon the directors was, at first, a little startling. They had - become wonted to Simeon hurried, gasping, and impatient—and to - dividends. They were almost afraid of these cold facts and figures. They - looked at them cautiously, through gold-rimmed glasses, received their - dividends—and took heart. - </p> - <p> - Each day some new comfort found its way to Simeon’s desk. The - morning that the box of elastic bands appeared there was a holocaust of - joy among the papers. He used nearly the whole box the first day. He had - never owned an elastic band before. He was president of the great - corporation, but it had not occurred to him that he had a right to elastic - bands. He slid them up and down his nervous fingers in sheer energy of - delight. But he did not mention them to John, nor John to him. It was John - who provided the new letter-file that cut the work in half, and had the - grimy windows washed till they shone like plate, and arranged the desk - ’phone so that Simeon could dictate to the stenographer three floors - below, without knowing, or caring, who sat at the other end taking his - crisp words with harried, compliant fingers. Hitherto, dictating had - burdened Simeon’s life. He had written dozens of letters himself - rather than endure the presence of a stenographer for even half an hour; - and the sound of a girl clacking drove him wild. - </p> - <p> - The letters that were not dictated into the telephone were written in John’s - round, conscientious-looking hand. If there were anything that one human - being could do for another that was not done in the office, Simeon did not - know what it was—nor did John. A clothes-brush that brushed them - twice a day hung by Simeon’s hat and coat; and if Simeon’s - neckties were still shabby and his collars a little frayed, it was because - John had not yet discovered the remedy. Some days a luncheon appeared on - Simeon’s desk, and some days he went out to luncheon; and he could - not have told which, except that it was always the thing that he would - have done had he devoted hours of thought to it all. - </p> - <p> - He did not give thanks to John, and John did not expect them. The lamps in - his eyes had not been lighted for that—nor for money.... - </p> - <p> - He went about the room now in his slow, considerate way, attending to each - detail of locking up, as carefully as if he were not to be first on the - ground in the morning.... He would return to start the day. Later—perhaps - at noon—he would slip away. That would make least trouble.... To - come in the morning and find him gone!—John felt, through all his - short, square figure, the shock to the nervous, quivering one. He did not - need to reason it out. He did not even know that he thought it. It was an - instinct—born the first day he came into Simeon Tetlow’s - office and saw the thin figure seated before its chaotic desk wrestling - its way through mighty things.... He had thought of his mother as he stood - there waiting for orders. She had fairly driven him away. “Go and be - a <i>man!</i>” she had said; “I shall ruin you.” And she - had smiled at him courageously.... And he had come away, and had taken the - first thing at hand—a call-boy, kicking his heels against a bench - with a dozen others. And this was his employer.... So he had stood waiting - when Simeon Tetlow had looked up and seen the lamps aglow. - </p> - <p> - That was three years ago. And tonight Simeon, plodding home through the - foggy gloom, was swearing a little under his breath. - </p> - <p> - “It ’s the weak spot in the boy,” he said testily; - “I believe he’s soft at the core.” - </p> - <p> - He inserted his latchkey, grumbling still. “Wash dishes—will - he? Damn him!—Umph!—Damn him!” And yet it was as if he - had said: “Bless him!” The great door swung noiselessly open, - and he went in. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he woman was - looking into the dusk. Her hair, short like a boy’s, curled a little - about the ears. She pushed it back as she looked, her eyes deepening and - widening. It was a gentle face, with a sharp line between the eyes, that - broke its quiet. She sank back with a little sigh. Foolish to look.... He - could not come. She must think of something.... The twilights were long - and heavy.... What was it he had written?... Hollyhocks? yes; that was it!—in - the garden. He had said she should have them—next summer. She leaned - back with closed eyes and folded hands, watching them—pink and rose - and crimson, white with flushing red, standing stiff and straight against - the wall. They were so cool and sturdy, and they brought the sunshine.... - The dark floated wide and lost itself in a sky of light. The smile crept - back to her lips. She stirred a little. The door opened and closed.... His - hands scarcely touched her as he bent and kissed her. - </p> - <p> - “It’s you—!” a little cry of doubt and delight. - </p> - <p> - “It’s me, mother.” The words laughed to her quietly. - </p> - <p> - She put out a hand. “How long can you stay?” She was stroking - his coat. - </p> - <p> - “Always.” - </p> - <p> - “What—?” The hand pushed him from her. The eyes scanned - his face. - </p> - <p> - “Always,” he repeated cheerfully, “if you want me.” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. “I don’t want you. I wrote you I was—happy.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. You wrote it too often—and too hard.” He was - smiling at her. But the lamps were misty. “Did you think I would n’t - see?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, dear—oh, dear—dear, dear!” It was a little - wail of reproach at his foolishness—and hers. “And you were - doing so well!” - </p> - <p> - “I can do better here. What’s burning!” He sniffed a - little. - </p> - <p> - She glanced anxiously toward the kitchen. “Your father put some - crusts in the oven to brown. It can’t he—” - </p> - <p> - “It can’t be anything else,” said John. - </p> - <p> - When he came back he told her of the great Dr. Blake. - </p> - <p> - They sat in silence while the room drew dark about them. - </p> - <p> - Now and then she reached out and touched his coat softly. - </p> - <p> - “Tomorrow then—!” half-doubtfully, when he bade her good - night. - </p> - <p> - “Tomorrow we shall see the great doctor,” he assented - cheerfully. “Good night, mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Good night, my son.” - </p> - <p> - The great doctor looked her over keenly, with eyes that saw everything and - saw nothing. - </p> - <p> - “A little trouble in walking!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “And nervous sometimes—a little!” - </p> - <p> - He might have been a neighbor, inquiring after her health. The little - woman forgot herself and her fear of him. She told him, very simply, of - the long nights—when the walls seemed closing in and there was no - air except under the sky, and her feet refused to carry her. The line - between her eyes grew deeper as she talked, but the hands in her lap were - very quiet. She did not shrink while the doctor’s sensitive fingers - traveled up and down her spine with almost roseleaf touch. Only once she - gave a quick cry of pain. - </p> - <p> - “I see. I see. A little tender.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” It was almost a gasp, with a quick drawing in of the - lip. - </p> - <p> - “I see.” He nodded. “Yes. That will do—very - nicely.” - </p> - <p> - He led her away to another room—to rest a little before the journey. - When he returned his glance met the boy’s absently. - </p> - <p> - He arranged trifles on his desk—paperweight and pens and blotter—as - affairs of importance, before he spoke, casually: - </p> - <p> - “She will always be ill—Yes. It is a hopeless case—Yes.” - He paused a little between the words, giving the boy time. “She will - suffer—more than she has yet. But we can help a little.” He - had drawn a paper toward him and was writing his hieroglyphics with slow - care, not looking up. “We will ease it, all we can. Keep her mind at - rest. Make her happy.” He turned his spectacles on the young man. - “You can make her happy. That will do more for her than I can.... - Will she live? Yes, yes. Longer than the rest, perhaps.... Shall you tell - her?—not today, I think—some other time. She is a little - tired. She is a brave woman.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>IMEON Tetlow - glanced up sharply. The door had opened without a sound. “You - ’ve come. Umph!” He shoved the pile of letters from him. - </p> - <p> - “Sit down.” - </p> - <p> - The air was full of sunshine. Even in the dingy office it glinted and - shone. - </p> - <p> - Across its radiance Simeon studied the dull face. “Well!” - </p> - <p> - The eyes of the boy met his, half-wistfully, it seemed. “She needs - me, sir,” he said. Simeon stirred uneasily. “Seen Dr. Blake?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir. He says he cannot help her.” - </p> - <p> - “Umph!” Simeon shifted again in his chair. His eye dropped to - the pile of papers beside him. - </p> - <p> - The boy’s hands had reached out to them. Almost instinctively the - fingers were threading their way among them, sorting and arranging in neat - piles. - </p> - <p> - Simeon watched the fingers jealously. It was as if he might spring upon - them and fasten them there forever. The young man’s eyes traveled - about the room, noting signs of disorder. “I can stay today,” - he said slowly. He hesitated. “I can stay a week, sir, if you want - me.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want you a week.” The man was looking at him - savagely. “You must bring them here!” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Here!” in doubt. - </p> - <p> - The man nodded. “They can live here as well as anywhere!” - </p> - <p> - The boy pondered it a minute. He shook his head slowly. - </p> - <p> - “They would n’t be happy,” he said. “She has - friends there, in Bridgewater—people she’s known ever since - she was a little girl—and father has his work. He ’s an old - man. It would n’t be easy for him to get work here. He has an easy - job—” - </p> - <p> - “Work enough here,” growled Simeon. He was studying the boy’s - face keenly. Was it possible the fellow was making capital of all this? He - threw off the thought. “Work enough here,” he repeated. - </p> - <p> - John considered it again. He looked up. The lamps threw their clear light - into the future. “I ’d thought of that, sir,” he said - slowly, “and I ’ve talked about it—a little. But I saw - it hurt them. So I dropped it.” - </p> - <p> - “You ’re missing the chance of a lifetime,” said Simeon. - “There are men working below that’d give ten years off their - life to get what you’ve got without trying.” - </p> - <p> - The boy’s quiet eye met his. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you ’ve tried—you’ve tried. I don’t - mean that,” he said testily. “But it’s a case of fitness—the - chance of a lifetime,” he repeated significantly. - </p> - <p> - The boy looked at him. “I know it, sir. I’ve thought about it - a long time. It ’s hard to do. But, you see, we never have but one - father and mother.” - </p> - <p> - The other met it, blinking. “Umph!” - </p> - <p> - “I shall try to get something at the Bridgewater office. I thought - perhaps you would recommend me if there was a vacancy.” - </p> - <p> - “There is n’t any,” said Simeon shortly—almost - with relief. - </p> - <p> - “The second shipping-clerk left week before last.” - </p> - <p> - “You don’t want that?” - </p> - <p> - “I think I do.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon turned vaguely toward the pigeonholes. The boy’s quick eye - was before him. “This is the one, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon smiled grimly. He drew out a blank from its place and filled it in. - “You won’t like it,” he said, holding the pen in his - teeth while he reached for the blotter. “It ’s heavy lifting, - and Simpson ’s no angel to work under. No chance to rise, either.” - He was glaring at the boy, a kind of desperate affection growing in his - eyes.. - </p> - <p> - The boy returned the look mistily. “You make it a little hard, sir. - I wish I could stay.” He half held out his hand and drew it back. - </p> - <p> - Simeon ignored it. He had taken down a ledger and picked a letter from the - pile before him. The interview was over. The President of the “R. - and Q.” Railroad was not hanging on anybody’s neck. - </p> - <p> - “It ’s the other ledger, sir,” said John quickly, - “the farther one.” He reached over and laid it deftly before - his employer. - </p> - <p> - Simeon pushed it from him savagely. “Go to the devil!” he - said. - </p> - <p> - The boy went, shutting the door quietly behind him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was six o’clock—the - close of a perfect June day. Not even the freight engines, pulling and - hauling up and down the yard, with their puffs of black smoke, could - darken the sky. Over in the meadow, beyond the network of tracks, the - bobolinks had been tumbling and bubbling all day. It was time to close - shop now, and they had subsided into the long grass. In the office the - assistant shipping-clerk was finishing the last bill of lading. He put it - to one side and looked at his watch. A look of relief crossed his face as - he replaced it and climbed down from the high stool. It had been a hard - day in the Bridge-water freight-office. News had come, in the early - morning, of a wreck, three miles down the track—a sleeper and a - freight had collided where the road curves by the stonework of the long - bridge, and John had been sent down to help in looking after the freight. - </p> - <p> - It was one of the worst wrecks the road had known. No one placed the - blame. Those on the ground were too busy to have theories; and those at a - distance had to change their theories a dozen times during the day. At - noon word came that the president of the road was on his way to the scene - of the accident. The news reached John as he was getting into the - wrecking-car to return to the office. He paused for a flying minute, one - foot on the step of the car. Then he swung off, and the car moved on - without him. He spent the next half hour going over the ground. He made - careful notes of every detail, recalling points from memory, taking - measurements, jotting down facts and figures with his swift, short - fingers. When he had finished he took the next wrecking-car back, making - up for lost time by lunching at his desk while he worked. - </p> - <p> - All the afternoon he had been doing the work of three men.... Six o’clock. - He got down from the high stool, stretching himself and rubbing his arms. - In ten minutes the special would pass. He glanced out through the office - window at the back of the building. High at the top of the sandy bank a - bunch of clover bloomed against the sky, huge heads, with pink-and-white - hearts—a kind of alfalfa—perhaps a seed from some passing - freight. He had seen them, flaunting there, between hurried snatches of - work, all the afternoon. He would pick them and carry them to her. But not - now.... He looked again at his watch. He wanted to see the special when it - passed. It would not stop, probably, but he might catch a glimpse of - Simeon Tetlow. He had often wished he might see him, and he had often - thought of his face the morning he said good-by. Beneath the anger in it - had been something the boy could not fathom—a kind of entreaty.... - He must find some way to give him the notes he had made of the wreck. He - stepped out on the platform, looking up and down the shine on the tracks. - The sun, coming low across the meadow beyond the tracks, made everything - beautiful. A whistle sounded. The special—at the upper bridge. In - five minutes it would pass. A smile curved his lips. The sound of quick - bells and puffs and wheels came pleasantly to him from the engines at work - in the yard down beyond the freight-house. A long train at the left was - backing in slowly. John watched it and jingled some pennies in his - pockets. He was thinking of Simeon Tetlow, the smile still on his lips.... - Suddenly the smile stopped. The fingers gripped the pennies and - held them fast.. .. His eye flashed along the top of the slow-moving - train.—No one in sight—level tracks—the special two - minutes off—the freight taking her track.... The switch, if he could - make it—It was not a thought, but a swift turn of the short legs. - Never had they seemed to him so fat and heavy beneath him. Yet they were - flying over the ties as the wind sweeps a field. The short, strong body - dropped itself upon the switch and hung there, gripping—a whirl of - cinders and blast and roar. ... Had he come fast enough?... Ages passed. - He lifted his head and looked back up the long tracks. The freight was - still backing in slowly. The special—like an old lady who has taken - the wrong crossing—was emitting a sound of dismay, a quick, high - note. The wheels reversed and she came back, puffing and complaining, in - little jerks. - </p> - <p> - When the train halted Simeon Tetlow stepped down from the platform. His - hand, as it left the iron rail, trembled a little. He thrust it into the - pocket of his light coat, looking up and down the tracks with stern - glance. The glance fell upon John mopping his brow. - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0011.jpg" alt="0011 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0011.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - The president of the road moved toward him slowly. “What ’s - up?” It was short and sharp. - </p> - <p> - John waited a minute while he mopped his brow again and replaced the - handkerchief. He was thinking fast—for two. “I—I wanted - to see you, sir.” One glance at the man had told him everything—the - shaking hand clinched in the pocket, the quivering nerves, the dusty - journey, the anxiety and fierce need of help. One more shock and the - tension would give way. “I wanted to see you, sir,” he - repeated quietly. - </p> - <p> - Simeon was looking at him keenly, up and down. “So you stopped my - special?” - </p> - <p> - John nodded. “Yes, I stopped it—I guess I stopped it.” - His voice almost laughed at the words. He was tugging at something in his - pocket. “I wanted to give you these, sir.” He had fished out - the handful of papers—old envelopes, scraps, bits of newspaper - margins—covered with writing and figures. “I was down there - this morning—to the wreck,” he said quickly. “Things - were pretty well mixed up—I thought you might like to see how they - lay. I made some notes.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah-h!” It was a long-drawn breath-something between a snarl - and a laugh. “Come inside.” - </p> - <p> - They went into the special, with her hideous decorations of plush and - imitation leather. The president nodded to the seat beside a table covered - with telegrams and newspapers and memoranda: “Sit down.” - </p> - <p> - He seated himself opposite the boy, his elbow on the table and his head - resting on the hand. Beneath its shelter his swift eyes looked out, - scanning the boy’s face. “Well!” It was sharp and quick. - </p> - <p> - The boy smiled at the familiar note. He ran over the papers in his - fingers, selecting one near the bottom. “This is the way things lay - when we got there. We were first on the ground. I had a good chance to - see,” he said simply. - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll warrant.” Simeon growled a little, leaning toward - it. - </p> - <p> - The boy moved nearer to him. “These are the sleepers—the - freight lay this way, over to the left. They must have struck just as the - last car left the bridge.” - </p> - <p> - “I see.” Simeon reached out a hand for the paper. It trembled - mistily as he bent above it. “I see.” The tone held a note of - satisfaction. “What else?” He looked up quickly. - </p> - <p> - John was sorting the papers, a half-smile on his slow lips. A sense of - happiness held his stubby fingers. - </p> - <p> - The president’s eyes rested on the dull face for a long minute. His - hand, holding the paper, had ceased to tremble. He was resting in the - strength of this body, short and sturdy and full of willing life. No one - knew what that stubby-fingered boy had meant to him—what plans for - the future had been cut off. The boy was to have been closer than a - partner for him, closer than his own body, through the years. He was to - have lived with him—shared his fortune, good and bad.... No one had - guessed. He himself had not quite known—until, one day, the door - closed behind the boy and he found himself sitting before a desk, trying - with trembling fingers to make an entry in the ledger.... He had worried - along since then as best he could.... And now he was sitting in the quiet - car with the boy opposite him. The freight outside was pulling away with - slow, disturbed puffs. The low sun shone through the car, and a glow of - red plush lifted itself about them and filled the car with clear, rosy - light. - </p> - <p> - The boy looked up. His eyes met the watching ones, and a quick light - flashed into them, touching the lamps of service to flame. “This is - the next one, sir.” He looked down again at the papers and held one - out. - </p> - <p> - The president pushed it aside with a touch. His eyes searched the boy’s - face. “Tell me what happened—just now!” - </p> - <p> - “Just now—!” The boy looked up, waiting, his lips half - apart. - </p> - <p> - The president nodded. “You know—When we stopped—What was - wrong!” - </p> - <p> - The boy waited a minute. “No. 39 had your track,” he said at - last, quietly. “She’s gone now. That’s her whistle—up - the yard.” He turned his head a little. - </p> - <p> - The president’s eyes still scanned the dull face. “And you - changed the switch!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” - </p> - <p> - The president pushed the papers farther from him, making a place for both - arms on the table. He leaned forward a little. “So that’s what - you left me for?” - </p> - <p> - The boy looked up, startled. “What, sir!” - </p> - <p> - The president nodded slowly. “To turn a switch, I suppose—” - The thin hand lifted to his lips was trembling now as a leaf quivers at a - sudden wind. - </p> - <p> - “Some one else would have seen,” said the boy quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Nobody sees—but you.” He crunched out the words. - “When are you coming back?” - </p> - <p> - “Back!” - </p> - <p> - “To the office—I need you.” He gulped a little over the - words. He had never said as much to any one. - </p> - <p> - The lamps, with their still glow, were turned toward him. “I want to - come, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Well?” - </p> - <p> - “We talked it over last night—She wants me to do it—She - will come with me—But—” - </p> - <p> - The president of the road was looking down now—waiting. - </p> - <p> - The boy’s eyes studied the worn face with its wrinkles, the thin, - hard lips and stern lines. Something in it made his heart suddenly go from - him. “I think I’m coming, sir,” he said simply. - </p> - <p> - The face did not look up. It worked strangely for a moment. - </p> - <p> - Then it dropped in the folded arms on the table and rested there. - </p> - <p> - The boy fell to sorting the telegrams. - </p> - <p> - When the man looked up the face was quiet. But something had gone from it—a - kind of hard selfishness. The gentleness that touched the lines had left - them free. He smiled a little wistfully as he held out his hand for the - papers. “I’m ready now. Go ahead.” - </p> - <p> - In ten minutes the papers were all in his hands, and the special was on - her way to the wreck. The boy watched it out of sight. Then he turned away - and crossed the tracks to the sandy bank, whistling softly—little - breaths of sound that broke into lightest bubbles of joy as he climbed the - bank. He was going to gather the clover blossoms, with the pink-and-white - hearts, to carry home to her. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he man at work in - the garden looked up with sudden interest. A light whistle had caught his - ear—“That you, Johnny?” He looked out through the vista - of currant-bushes and peas to the path that skirted the house. “You - there?” he called. - </p> - <p> - The youth, who had come around the corner, nodded casually. “How is - mother?” - </p> - <p> - The old man got slowly to his feet, rubbing his knees a little. “All - right, I guess. She was out here with me a while ago, but I took her in.—You - got some flowers for her?” He glanced at the pink-and-white blossoms - in the boy’s hand. - </p> - <p> - “I got them on the bank by the track—Has she had a good day?” - </p> - <p> - “Putty good, I reckon. Putty good.” He was coming down between - the peas, limping a little. “They found out who’s to blame—?” - </p> - <p> - The boy was moving toward the house, but he turned back with a little - gesture of silence. “She does n’t know?” - </p> - <p> - The older man looked a little guilty. “Well—yes—fact is—I - told her. She kind o’ got it out o’ me,” he added in - defence. - </p> - <p> - The boy smiled. “She always gets it out of you.—Never mind if - it has n’t hurt her.” He turned again toward the house. - </p> - <p> - She was very quiet as he entered the room. The blinds were closed and the - little light that came through the shutters made a kind of cool dusk. He - crossed to the lounge and laid the flowers by her hand. The delicate - fingers reached out and closed over them. “Clover blossoms,” - she said softly. “I was wishing today—We used to have them in - the yard-before the lawn-mower—” The fingers strayed here and - there, touching them gently. “Are they crimson?” - </p> - <p> - “Guess again.” His voice was full of gentle love. - </p> - <p> - “Not crimson, no.... But they ’re not white, either—” - </p> - <p> - “But you ’re warm,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The eyes flashed open and looked at him. “What happened today?” - </p> - <p> - “Father told you—about the accident?” - </p> - <p> - “The accident—Yes. But there was something else—” - </p> - <p> - He laughed quietly. “You always know, don’t you! Was it good - or bad!” - </p> - <p> - She hesitated a second. “Good—for you.” - </p> - <p> - “And for all of us, mother.” He bent toward her. “We - were talking about it last night—about my going back—if he - wanted me.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—Have you heard from him!” - </p> - <p> - “I ’ve seen him.” - </p> - <p> - “Today!” - </p> - <p> - He nodded. “He came down to look after the accident, and his train - stopped a minute at the office. He wants me—I think he needs me—But - it ’s for you to say, mother—you and father.” - </p> - <p> - The breath of a sigh came to her lips and changed to a smile. “Ah, - if you can get your father to go—” - </p> - <p> - He smiled back, his eyes searching her face for the slightest shadow that - should cross it. “He ’ll go,” he said decisively. - “And he ’ll like it—after we get there. But will <i>you</i> - like it, mother! That ’s what I ’m afraid of—You ’ll - miss your friends—and little things—” - </p> - <p> - “I shall have you,” she returned quickly, “and your - father—and President Tetlow.” - </p> - <p> - He smiled a little at the picture. But his face had suddenly cleared. - “I believe you <i>would</i> like him,” he said. “I never - thought before how much alike you are—you two—in some ways!” - </p> - <p> - She laughed out. “He’s a terrible hard man to get on with!” - </p> - <p> - He bent and kissed her cheek lightly. “For other people, perhaps—not - for you—or me.” She had lifted the clovers and was looking at - them. “How beautiful they are!” she said softly. They dropped - again to her side. “I want to go.” She was looking at him with - clear eyes. “And I want <i>you</i> to go—I didn’t see - how it was when we talked it over last winter—how much it would mean - to you. I dreaded the change and your father is so hard to move—and - I thought, too, that it would be too much for you—having me to look - after and all the responsibility besides. I did n’t see then—but - I’ve been thinking about it months now, lying here. You really liked - the work there and that made it easy—” She was looking at him - inquiringly. - </p> - <p> - He nodded slowly. “I liked it—I don’t think I ever did - any work I liked so well. It was almost as if I thought things out myself. - I can’t explain how it felt—but somehow I used to forget, - almost, that I was n’t planning things—It seemed so natural to - do them—the things he wanted done.” - </p> - <p> - “I know.” She sighed softly. “How he must miss you!” - </p> - <p> - He seemed not to have heard her. He was following his thought, clearing it - to his slow mind. “You ’re right in the midst of things down - there. It’s like being fireman on one of these big engines, I guess—every - shovelful you put in, you can see her fly just as if you were doing it - yourself. Here it ’s different, somehow. I do first one thing and - then another, but nothing seems to count much.” - </p> - <p> - “It ’s like being a brakeman,” she suggested. - </p> - <p> - “That’s it! I never thought of that! But I’ve always - said I’d rather be fireman on any old engine than a high-class - brakeman—Pullman or anything.” - </p> - <p> - Again the little breath of a sigh that changed quickly to a smile. “We - won’t be brakemen any more,” she said. “We ’ll go - live on the engine—right by the throttle—that’s what you - call it, is n’t it?” A little laugh covered the words. - </p> - <p> - He bent and kissed her again. “Dear mother! You shall never go if - you do not want it.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, but I want it—more than anything in the world. But there - is your father—?” - </p> - <p> - “There is father,” he said decisively. “But first we - ’ll have supper.” - </p> - <p> - He went out into the kitchen and she lay in the half-dusk with the flowers - clasped in her fingers. Presently she lifted them and drew them across her - cheek. “It was good in You to make flowers,” she said softly, - “thank You for them. ... Thank You....” The words trailed away - to a breath as she held the flowers to the light, turning them a little - and shaking them softly apart to look into their cool fragrance. - </p> - <p> - Then she touched them again to her cheek and lay with closed eyes. - </p> - <p> - When the boy came in a few minutes later, he stood for a moment watching - her before he set the slender glass of water on the table and turned to - the window, opening the blinds and letting in the late light. Her eyelids - lifted and she looked out at him dreamily. “I must have been asleep,” - she said. “I was picking flowers in the meadow at home and the wind - blew in my face. I ran a little way—” She held out the flowers - to him. “Put them in water for me, John.” - </p> - <p> - He took them and shook them apart, dropping them lightly into the glass of - water on the table. - </p> - <p> - “They are drooping,” she said regretfully. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but they will come up.—Supper is ready.” He had - placed an arm under her shoulders and lifted her from her place as easily - as if she were a child. They waited a moment while she slipped to her - feet, steadying herself a little. Then they moved slowly toward the door, - her weight half resting on the arm that guided her. Any one watching them - would have seen where the boy had gained his gentle bearing. He leaned a - little as they went, his soul absorbed in serving her; and something of - the dignity and courage of the slender shoulders seemed to have passed - into the heavier ones, as if they, too, bore the burden and the pain with - heroic spirit. - </p> - <p> - To the old man, waiting by the stove, tea-pot in hand, there was nothing - heroic in the sight of the two in the doorway. They were simply John and - Marcia and they had always walked together like that, almost from the time - John could toddle across the floor. Then her hand had rested on the boy’s - shoulder and he had looked up, now and then, under the weight, saying, - “Does it hurt this way, mother?” Now he did not need to ask. - He guided the slight figure, half carrying it, lightly, as if it had been - a part of himself. - </p> - <p> - The old man set the tea-pot on the table and drew out her chair clumsily. - “We’ve got lettuce for supper,” he said proudly, “and - redishes, and tomorrow night they ’ll be a mess of peas, if nothin’ - happens.” - </p> - <p> - She sank into the chair with a little sigh and a smile of pleasure at the - dainty table. The lettuce lifted itself crisply and the radishes glowed - pink and white in their dish. A silence fell for a moment on the little - group. They had never formed the habit of saying grace; but when the - mother was well enough to be in her place, there was a quiet moment before - they broke bread. - </p> - <p> - John looked at her now, a little shade of anxiety in his face. Then he - began to talk of the day’s happenings, the old man chiming in with - the odd effect of a heavy freight, shacking back and forth through the - whirl of traffic. To the boy and his mother talking was a kind of thinking - aloud—elliptical flashes, sentences half-finished, nods intercepted - and smiles running to quick laughs. To the old man it was a slower - process, broken by spaces of silence, chewing and meditating. Now and then - he caught at some flying fragment of talk, holding it close—as to - near-sighted eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You wa’n’t thinkin’ of moving to Bay-port?” - He asked the question humbly, but with a kind of mild obstinacy that - checked the flow of talk. - </p> - <p> - “That’s what we wanted to ask you, father.” - </p> - <p> - The boy had raised his voice a little, as if speaking to a person who was - a little deaf. - </p> - <p> - The old man sat down his tea-cup and rubbed his finger thoughtfully along - his chin. “I don’t b’lieve I ’d better go,” - he said slowly. He shook his head. “I don’t see how I can go - nohow.” - </p> - <p> - The boy glanced swiftly at his mother. A little line had fallen between - her eyes. The slower processes of the man’s mind were a nervous - horror to her quick-moving one. - </p> - <p> - She leaned forward a little. “We want to go, Caleb, because it will - be better for John,” she said slowly. - </p> - <p> - He nodded imperturbably. “Yes, it ’ll be better for the boy.” - He glanced at him kindly. “I know all about it’s being better - for the boy. We talked about it last winter, and if you ’d made up - your minds to go then, I would n’t ’a’ said a word—not - a word.” - </p> - <p> - “But it will be better now—easier to go. There is n’t - any other difference from what there was last winter.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they’s a difference,” said the old man slowly. - “I did n’t hev my squashes then.” - </p> - <p> - “But you have n’t got them now,” said John. “They - won’t be ripe for months—” - </p> - <p> - “Six weeks,” interrupted the old man solemnly. “They are - just a-settin ’.” - </p> - <p> - “But we can buy squashes in Bayport, Caleb.” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her mildly. “Yes, we can buy ’em, but will they - be them squashes!—You know they won’t be, and Johnny knows - they won’t.” His look changed a little to severity. “When - a man’s done what I have for them squashes—Why, I dug that - ground and I fertilized it, and I’ve weeded and watered and fussed - and tended them all spring, and when a man ’s done that much, a man - wants to <i>eat ’em!</i>” It was a long speech for the old - man, and he chewed in gloomy silence. - </p> - <p> - The man looked up again and saw them shining at him. “I want to go, - Johnny,” he said, and his thick lips trembled a little, “I - want to do what’s best for you. You know it and your mother knows - it.” He was looking at her humbly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Caleb, I know.” The line had vanished from her eyes. - Dear old Caleb!—How slow he was and how right, always, in the end! - </p> - <p> - “How would it do, father, if we had the things sent down to us?” - said the boy. - </p> - <p> - The man’s mouth was open, regarding him mildly. “If we had, - what sent, Johnny?” - </p> - <p> - “The garden stuff—peas and beets and squashes and so on?” - </p> - <p> - The dull look lightened. “Maybe we could—and it would seem - good to eat the same ones we raised, would n’t it?” He looked - at him appealingly. - </p> - <p> - “We’d all like it, and it would be good for mother—to - have the things fresh from home.” - </p> - <p> - “So ’t would, Johnny. So ’t would. Who’ll we get - to tend ’em?” The thought puckered his forehead in anxious - lines. - </p> - <p> - “There ’s Stillwell,” said John absently. He was not - looking at the old man, but at his mother’s face. - </p> - <p> - It was turned to him with a little smile. “I am glad,” she - said, as if he had spoken. - </p> - <p> - “You are tired?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—it has been a long day—so much has happened.” - </p> - <p> - “I will help you to bed,” he said, thoughtfully, “and - then I must go back to the office for a little while.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him inquiringly. “Tonight?” - </p> - <p> - “Only for a little while. The special goes back at eight—I - want to tell him.” - </p> - <p> - She made a swift gesture. “Don’t wait. Your father will help - me.” - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll help her, Sonny. You run right along,” said the - old man kindly. - </p> - <p> - “I am a little late,” said the boy, looking at his watch. - “I ’ll have to hurry. But I ’ll be back before you - ’re asleep.” With a little nod he was gone. - </p> - <p> - They looked at each other across the vacant place. “I do know how - you ’re goin’ to stand it,” said the old man slowly. - </p> - <p> - “I shall not mind.” She spoke with quick decision, “but - it will be hard for you—leaving the garden and the place.” - </p> - <p> - “We ’ve lived here thirty year,” he said thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “Thirty-one,” she responded. - </p> - <p> - “So ’t was—thirty-one last May.” - </p> - <p> - He came around and laid a clumsy hand on her shoulder. “You want I - should help you, Marcia?” - </p> - <p> - “No, Caleb, I ’ll sit here a little—perhaps till the boy - comes back. I like to look at the garden from here.” - </p> - <p> - The old man’s glance followed hers. “It is putty,” he - said. “You see how them squashes hev come on since morning?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” She smiled at him in the dim light. “Seems’s - if you could most see ’em grow,” said the old man with a - little sigh. He took up his battered hat. “Well, I ’ll go see - Stillwell. Like enough he ’ll be glad to do it.” - </p> - <p> - But when he was outside of the door, he did not turn toward Stillwell’s. - He went down the garden path instead, stooping now and then to a plant or - vine, patting the mold with slow fingers. At the end of the garden he - dropped to his knees, feeling cautiously along the bed that skirted the - high board fence.... “Coming on fine,” he said, “and - hollyhocks is what she wanted most of all.” His fingers strayed - among them, picking off dead leaves, straightening stems and propping them - with bits of stick. While he worked he talked to himself, a kind of - mumbling chant, and sometimes he lifted himself a little and looked about - the garden, much as a muskrat sits upon its haunches and watches the outer - world for a moment before it dives again to its home. Once he looked up to - the sky and his fingers ceased their work, his face wore a passive look. - Kneeling there in the half-light, his big face lifted and the fragrance of - the garden rising about him, he seemed to wait for something. Then his - face dropped and his fingers groped again among the plants. By-and-by he - got to his feet, stamping a little to shake out the stiffness. “It - ’s better for the boy,” he said humbly. “I ’ll go - see Stillwell right off.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he special was - halting, with little puffs, and the president swung down from the steps. - He looked about him with a nervous, running glance up and down the - platform. If the boy were not here, he could not wait.... - </p> - <p> - “Hello!” He laid his hands on a pair of broad shoulders that - pushed toward him out of the dusk. “I want you—right off!” - </p> - <p> - “All right, sir, I’m coming.” There was a note of joy in - the voice that warmed the older man’s heart. - </p> - <p> - “You ’re ready, are you?” He had turned toward the - steps, with quick motion. - </p> - <p> - The boy laughed a little, hurrying beside him. “Not tonight. I must - wait. There are things—” - </p> - <p> - The president paused, one foot on the step, glaring at him. “What - things—Telegraph—” He waved a hand toward the office. - </p> - <p> - “It is n’t that.” The boy spoke quickly, the puffs from - the engine driving his words aside. Nothing could seem important except - that great engine, panting to be off, and the nervous man gripping the - rail at his side. “It is n’t that, sir. It is my mother and - the moving. I must see to that first.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, they ’re coming, are they?” The hand on the rail - relaxed. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” - </p> - <p> - The president stepped back to the platform. He made an impatient gesture - to the engineer and turned to the boy. “How long do you want?” - It was the old, sharp tone. - </p> - <p> - But the boy smiled, looking at him with shining eyes. “We might walk - up and down,” he suggested. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, walk—if you want to!” growled Simeon. He fell into - a quick trot, matching the boy’s stride. - </p> - <p> - “Things are bad down there!” He jerked out the words. “Damn - fool work!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “And the fault’s here.” He nodded toward the maze of - tracks that stretched away in the dark. - </p> - <p> - “Tomlinson is an old man,” said the boy. - </p> - <p> - “Old fool!” retorted the other. “Must have been asleep—drunk!” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think he drinks,” said the boy quietly. “The - hours are long—he ’s old—he may have dropped off.” - </p> - <p> - “He ’ll drop off now,” said the other grimly, “—way - off—How long will it take—this moving business?” - </p> - <p> - The boy waited a minute. “I want to come now, sir, right off—tomorrow. - But my mother is not well—You see we must wait for the right day, - and there is the house to look out for and my father—” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you know I need you?” said Simeon gruffly. - </p> - <p> - The boy looked at him again. It was plain, even in the obscure light, that - the man was driven.... He had never seen him like this; and he thought - rapidly. The engine had ceased its puffs, but he felt the great throbbing - power waiting there behind it. His blood thrilled to it, drifting in his - veins. To be off with this man—shaping the course of a world! They - had come to the end of the platform and he stopped, wiping away the great - drops that had gathered on his forehead. - </p> - <p> - “It ’s a hot night,” said Simeon testily. “Come - into the car—get something cool.” The tone was almost crafty - and the boy smiled, shaking his head. “Not tonight!” - </p> - <p> - Already the slow, patient underhold had regained its power. He spoke in - his old, slow fashion, choosing his words with care. “I can’t - go tonight, sir. But I ’ll come the first thing in the morning, if - that will do. A few days won’t matter. The moving can wait till this - thing is straightened out.” He motioned toward the east, where the - wreck lay. - </p> - <p> - They had turned and were pacing back toward the engine. Insensibly Simeon’s - gait had slowed to the boy’s even tread and his breathing had - slackened its quick beat. He looked at the great eye blazing toward them - through the dusk. “You won’t come,” he said, “not - till you ’re good and ready. But I tell you—I shall dock your - pay!” - </p> - <p> - The boy laughed out. “I will come tomorrow, sir, if she keeps well.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, tomorrow!” said Simeon. It might have been years from the - tone. - </p> - <p> - He stepped on to the platform of the car. “I can get along without - you,” he said. The train had started and the words rumbled back, out - of the roar of smoke. But to the boy, standing with his hat in his hand, - they were an appeal for help, a call from the whirl and rush of the world - for something that he had to give. - </p> - <p> - He turned away and went down the street, wondering a little at the - strangeness of the day. - </p> - <p> - It was a radiant night. - </p> - <p> - He looked up to the sky—the same sky that the man in the garden had - lifted his face to, a little while ago, kneeling among the plants. But the - stars were out now, lighting its gloom. The boy thought suddenly of his - mother’s eyes and quickened his pace. She would be waiting for him, - looking into the dark. He felt a little thrill of pride in her courage. - ... She would make the sacrifice for him without a murmur. Yet it was not - for him—nor for the man who needed him. But behind him—behind - them all—a great hand seemed reaching out to the boy, beckoning him, - drawing him to his place in the world. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>PEEDING that night - toward Bayport, through the dark and the stars, Simeon Tetlow’s - thoughts were often on the hoy. He was haunted by the wreck. It was - shattered glass, and charred wood, and blood everywhere, and trampled - grass and leaves.... But across the face of the wreck moved the hoy’s - eyes as they had turned to him, following his train into the night. - </p> - <p> - With the boy again, he could do all that he had ever planned—and - more. In spite of his harsh words, flung back as the train started, his - heart was aglow. John was coming back to him and together they could work - out the plan that held him.... He could not have told the plan to any one; - it was hardly articulate, even to himself. He paced up and down the tawdry - car, his hands, tense at his sides, opening and closing with the swift - thought that crowded upon him. It had been coming to him through the - months, while he had groped and wrestled alone. Slowly it had been forming - deep below—shaping itself out of life—a vision of service. And - today he had seen it stretching before him, unrolling its web of thought - as the train tracked the fertile country. All day he had looked out upon - wide fields, scarred and broken by late frosts, on orchards and meadows - and stretches of plain, half-tilled; and always, in the distance, the - mountains, filled to the brim with ore. It was a rich country, but - starved, straitened—and no one knew better than the President of the - “R. and Q.” road the cause of its poverty. Across its length - and breadth stretched the road—like a great monster that sprawled, - sucking its lifeblood. He had known it, always,—and he had not - cared. Let the country take care of itself. There was always enough for - the road—and for dividends. He had put them off, when they had come - to him begging better rates—leniency in bad seasons. There was not a - farmer, up and down the region, that did not know Simeon Tetlow. He had a - name among them. “The road was not there for its health.” They - knew his face as he said it, and they hated it. As he sped through the - night, he seemed to feel it closing in upon him—a cloud of - malevolence settling upon him from the hills, rising from the valleys, - shutting in on every side—and he, alone in its midst, tracking the - great country—his hand reaching out to grasp its wealth.... But not - now. He had seen it in the slow days that lay behind—a new vision. - Sitting alone in his high office, he had watched the great system - stretching out—not to drain the wealth of the country, not the huge - monster that battened on its strength, but a vital necessity—a thing - of veins and arteries, the highway of its life current—without which - life itself must cease altogether or run feeble and clogged. The great - imagination that could think a railroad into existence had brooded on the - picture, sitting alone in its high office, watching the system stretching - away, branching in every direction, lighting up the surrounding hills. And - today, when the Boy had said he would come back, the man had known that - the picture would come true. - </p> - <p> - The porter had brought in his supper, placing it noiselessly before him on - the table, but the president of the road had pushed it from him, leaning a - little forward, gazing at the picture that glowed and filled the horizon. - He drew his hand hastily across his eyes and the porter moved forward. - </p> - <p> - “Supper, sah.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—yes.” But he did not stir. His eyes were fixed on - the dark window, staring into the night. - </p> - <p> - The porter reached out a hand to draw down the blind, but the president - stayed him with a smile. - </p> - <p> - “Let it he, Sam. I am ready now.” - </p> - <p> - He ate with quick, nervous motion, his eyes still on the window. Glimmers - of light from the hills struck across it—towns glinted and sparkled - and slipped into the night. The eyes followed them eagerly—each - gleam of light, each flash of power. It was a new country—<i>his</i> - country. It should Be what he chose to make it—a fertile land. - </p> - <p> - The supper had been removed and the porter had set down the box of cigars - on the table and withdrawn to his own place. The train rumbled through the - night with swift shrieks and long, sliding rushes of sound. The president - of the road reached out for a cigar. But the hand that held the lighted - match trembled and whirred. He threw it aside, with an impatient sound, - and struck another, taking the light with quick, tense puffs. It caught - the spark and glowed. He dropped the match upon its tray. There was a look - in his eyes that was half fear. He had been a man of iron—but the - iron was shaken, shattered.... They threw the worn-out engine on the - scrap-heap.... But not yet—Give him a year, two years, to make the - dream come true. He saw the country bud and blossom and fling its promise - on the air. In the ground he heard the grass grow, creeping. The grain - beneath the mold could not move its silken filaments so lightly that his - ear did not catch the sound; and from the mountains the ore called, loud - and free, knocking against its walls. The mountains opened their great - sides, and it poured down into the valleys—wealth for all the world—It - should come true.... Time and strength—and John! - </p> - <p> - The cigar had gone out and he tossed it aside, throwing himself on the red - cushions and staring at the ceiling that swayed to the swift run of the - engine. Then he closed his eyes and the boy’s face was before him, - smiling. He slept fitfully. The train rumbled and jarred through his - sleep, but always with its song of iron courage. - </p> - <h3> - VIII - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HERE were no - dreams in the eyes of the President of the “R. and Q.” road - the next morning. The office was a chaos of papers; they lay on the desk - and on chairs, and covered the floor. “When John opened the door and - stepped in, the president was running distracted fingers through his hair - and diving into the chaos. He came up with a grunt. - </p> - <p> - “I wish you’d find that statement the C. B. and L. sent last - month—and be quick about it!” - </p> - <p> - With a smile the boy hung up his hat and went down on his knees into the - chaos, filing, selecting, discarding, with the old care. - </p> - <p> - Simeon returned to his desk, growling. He took up the telephone receiver - and put it to his ear, his scowl alert for blunders.... “What?—No!—You - ’ve copied that wrong—The <i>last</i> one—yes.... Tom<i>lin</i>son, - I said—not Thompson—Oh, Lord! <i>Tomlin—L-i-n</i>...” - </p> - <p> - John slipped quietly from the room. At the door marked with the bronze - token, “President’s Office,” he paused. The typewriters - clattered merrily within and through the ground glass he caught a haze of - pompadours rising against the light. He opened the door and looked in. The - young women at the typewriters did not look up—except with their - shoulders. The one by the large window scowled fixedly at her machine, her - fingers fidgeting and thumping the keys. Her mouth wore a look of fine - scorn and her blue eyes glinted. - </p> - <p> - John returned to the outer office. The head bookkeeper looked up with a - nod. “Morning, John. Moving along up above!” - </p> - <p> - The boy nodded a slow reply. “Where is Edith?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Oh—Edith?” The man thought a moment with pen suspended. - The light from the hanging bulb fell on his lined face. “Edith? Oh, - yes. Congdon took her. Billing-room, I guess. Back to stay?” - </p> - <p> - “Not for long.” The boy had disappeared through the swinging - door at the end of the room. - </p> - <p> - The young man seated at another desk in the room followed him with curious - glance. “Who is that?” he asked, turning a little on his stool - and staring at his companion. - </p> - <p> - The head bookkeeper nodded absently. “That is John Bennett.” - His finger was on the column, tracing a blunder to its source. - </p> - <p> - “And who in hell is John Bennett?” demanded the other slowly. - </p> - <p> - “You ’ll find out—if you stay long enough,” - replied the head bookkeeper pleasantly. He placed his finger on the column - and jotted figures on the little pad at his side. He laid aside the pad. - “He ’s Simeon Tetlow’s shadow,” he said. “The - two Bridgewater boys over there by the window.” He nodded his head. - “They call him ’Sissie Johnny.’” - </p> - <p> - “Looks like a fool and acts like Lord of Creation,” muttered - the other. - </p> - <p> - “That ’s what he is,” said the head bookkeeper. He had - no time for conversation just then. He was close on the track of his - mistake. Moreover, the assistant bookkeeper was a thorn in his side. The - appointment had been none of his—one of old man Tetlow’s - blunders, he called it savagely when he had time to talk. - </p> - <p> - The assistant bookkeeper took up his pen, looking at it musingly. He knew, - perhaps better than the head bookkeeper, to what he owed his appointment. - Six months ago he had been in the employ of the rival road. Just why he - had left them was his own affair, as were also the wires that had been - pulled in his behalf along the “R. and Q.” Well, he was here. - He had gathered much interesting information in his six months—information - that might be valuable—very valuable—some day. He dipped his - pen in the ink.... As for this John Bennett.... The pens were both at work - now, flying fast. - </p> - <p> - “You want Edith?” Congdon, the head billing-clerk, looked up - from his file of bills with a little scowl; it changed slowly to pleasure. - “Why, how are you, John? Did n’t know you were back... Edith—Well, - yes, I took her—wanted another hand here. Marshall said they could - spare one from the office. So I took the littlest.” He smiled - genially. - </p> - <p> - “Littlest and best,” said John. - </p> - <p> - The other laughed out. “I began to suspect it—The old man - wants her back?” - </p> - <p> - “Right off.” - </p> - <p> - Congdon turned a little in his place. “Oh, Edith!” He raised - his voice and the girl across the room looked up. - </p> - <p> - He beckoned to her and she came slowly, leaving her machine with a little - touch that was almost a pat, as if it said, “Coming back very soon.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” She stood before them waiting, a slight, dark - girl, with clear glance. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” the man’s eyes dwelt on her kindly. “They - want you back in the office, Edith. You need n’t stop to finish.—I - ’ll put some one else on those.” - </p> - <p> - She turned away with a look that was almost a smile of pleasure. Half way - to her table she paused and came back. “I can take my machine, can’t - I?” - </p> - <p> - He laughed tolerantly. “Oh, take it along, if you want to—Nobody - else wants it.” - </p> - <p> - John followed her to the table. “I ’ll carry it for you, - Edith.” - </p> - <p> - She slipped out the paper she had been at work on and began gathering up - the trifles from her table. - </p> - <p> - When he set down the machine in the president’s office, a ripple of - eyebrows passed it by—glances too busy for comment. The clatter of - the typewriters rose and hummed. The hive could not pause for a worker - more or less. She slipped into her place with a little smile and nod, - waiting while John shifted the telephone connection and swung a bulb, with - its green shade, conveniently in place. - </p> - <p> - The little bell rang sharply and she leaned to the receiver. “Hello!” - </p> - <p> - John crossed to the young woman by the window. She had finished a sheet - and was drawing it out with a quick swirl. - </p> - <p> - “All done?” he asked pleasantly. - </p> - <p> - She ignored him, rubbing out an offending word and blowing away the black - fuzz before she looked up. “What is it?” she said sharply. Her - hair, which was red and crisp, glinted as she turned her head. - </p> - <p> - John’s eyes followed it with a little look of pleasure. There was - something about that color that always made him happy. He did not know - this and it had never occurred to him to be diplomatic. But a hint of a - smile crossed the girl’s mouth. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” She was looking at him tolerantly. - </p> - <p> - He drew a sheaf of papers from his pocket. “These are to be copied—leaving - blanks here, and here—Send a boy when they are done. He wants two - carbons—very clear.” - </p> - <p> - “All right.” She took them from him with a look of relief. It - might be an honor to take down ’the old man’s dictation, but - it was an honor she could dispense with. She fluffed her fingers toward - the glinting hair and descended on the keys. - </p> - <p> - John stood for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the crisping hair in the - wide window-light. The girl had turned her head a little and it twinkled, - but did not look up. - </p> - <p> - As he crossed the room, he glanced casually at the new occupant. Her head - was bent to the receiver and a little smile played about her lips. “Yes—yes—yes?—yes.” - Her fingers moved quickly and she nodded once or twice as if listening to - something pleasant. “She <i>likes</i> to work for him,” - thought John, “same as I do.” - </p> - <p> - With a look of satisfaction on his round face he closed the office door - behind him. He had accomplished, without a jar, what perhaps no other man - in the service could have done. But he was not thinking of this—he - hardly knew it. He was planning what Simeon should have for luncheon—something - hot and staying.... - </p> - <p> - He reached out a hand to a boy who was hurrying toward the elevator. - “Hold up, Sandy. What’s that?” - </p> - <p> - “A note for the president.” It was the tone of pride. - </p> - <p> - John smiled a little as he held out his hand. “I ’ll take it - to him—and here—” The hoy’s face had fallen, - “Take this—” He wrote hastily on a pad—“Carry - that, one o’clock sharp, to the Holman House. They ’ll give - you a luncheon for the president. Sprint, won’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “You bet.” The smile was stealing back to the boyish face. - </p> - <p> - John nodded. “Bring it up yourself—set it on the box by the - door—not later than one, mind.” - </p> - <p> - The boy nodded and was gone, tucking the note in his pocket. It did not - occur to him to question the authority of this slow-moving young man—hardly - more than a boy himself. - </p> - <p> - It did not occur to any one to question it, as he made his way in a sort - of slow-looking, fast fashion about the building, doing the things, little - and big, that came to his hand. One did not think of the boy apart from - his eyes. It was as if a spirit dwelt there, guiding the slowness and - sureness, and men yielded to it, as they yield to the light when it shines - on them. - </p> - <p> - If the boy had known his power or guessed it, it would have vanished, - slipped from him, even while he put out his hand to it. But he had always - been slow and stupid—not clever like other boys—and needing - time and patience for his work. He knew that it rested his mother to have - him do things for her, and that Simeon Tetlow needed him. Beyond that his - mind did not travel. He could not have told how he knew men’s - thoughts—read their minds, almost, when their eyes looked into his—any - more than he could have told why certain colors made him happy, or why he - had chosen Edith Burton out of the office force for Simeon’s private - work. Things came to him slowly. He stood motionless, sometimes, waiting—almost - stupidly, it seemed—before a piece of work, a decision to be made—but - when he put out his hand to it, he held it with firm grasp. - </p> - <p> - Simeon did not look up when he came back. He was speaking into the - telephone, a look of comparative peace on his face. - </p> - <p> - John swept aside the heap of bills and memoranda that covered the desk - across the room. Then he looked about for the dust-cloth. He found it in - the pocket of one of Simeon’s old coats on the wall. A piece of - cheese fell to the floor as he shook it out. And Simeon, looking around as - he hung up the receiver, smiled for the first time in weeks. - </p> - <p> - “So that ’s where I put that cheese, is it? I got it one day - for luncheon—forgot where I put it—did n’t have any - luncheon that day at all.” He was looking at it regretfully. - </p> - <p> - John tossed it into the waste basket, a look of disapproval in his face. - He wiped the dust from his desk, arranging the files of papers he had - collected from the floor and placing them in pigeon-holes. - </p> - <p> - Simeon watched, a look of something like contentment creeping to his face. - “You found that statement yet?” The question was almost mild. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” John picked up the paper and handed it to him. - “They ’ve made double charge on those forty boilers, have n’t - they?” Simeon took it and glared at it. “That ’s what I - can’t find out,” he said. “I can’t find out.” - He sighed impatiently and laid it on the desk while he reached for another - set of papers. - </p> - <p> - John, watching the face, was struck anew by the weariness in it. It was - the face of an old man. - </p> - <p> - He held out his hand. “Suppose I take it, sir. I ’ll be down - in the yard this afternoon and I ’ll look it up.” - </p> - <p> - There was a sound of jingling glass outside the partition. - </p> - <p> - John stepped quickly to the door. - </p> - <p> - “Here, Sandy. Take this to McElwain in the yard. Tell him I ’ll - be down in half an hour.—Here ’s your luncheon, sir.” He - brought in the tray and placed it on the table, setting a chair before it - and drawing the cork from the bottle. He removed the napkin that covered - the tray. “Your luncheon ’s ready, sir.” - </p> - <p> - With a sigh of satisfaction, the President of the “R. and Q.” - Road rose from his desk. - </p> - <p> - “There’s a fresh towel, sir, and I brought up some soap.” - </p> - <p> - With another sigh, the president of the road obeyed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - IX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>Imeon was looking - over his mail, grumbling and fussing. He pushed a pile of letters toward - John when he returned from luncheon. “They’re coming in—thick - and fast,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “What are they?” - </p> - <p> - “Damages.” He was scowling absently at the sheet in his hand. - “Mail was full of it this morning. Here’s another.” He - tossed it to the boy. - </p> - <p> - John gathered them up, looking at them thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “Take ’em to McKinnon,” said Simeon. “He ’ll - tend to ’em for us.” - </p> - <p> - “Shall I read them first?” - </p> - <p> - Simeon snorted a little. “Read ’em?—Yes, read ’em, - if you want to. You won’t find them very entertaining. <i>I</i> did - n’t.” - </p> - <p> - The boy was turning them over slowly. - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll pay ’em—every just claim,” said the - old man. His shoulders were hunched a little forward, as if he were - talking to himself. “I ’ll pay the just ones—every last - cent. But the fakes can look out—that’s all!” His jaw - set itself firmly. - </p> - <p> - The boy had taken them to his desk and was going through them, making - notes from them slowly. The heavy look in his face held a kind of pain. He - was seeing it again—the wreck—the flare of fire; there were - groans about him and shrill calls—hysterical women—and there - had been a child.... He glanced across at Simeon. - </p> - <p> - The old man’s face, bent to his work, was gray and haggard. He - looked up, meeting the boy’s eye. - </p> - <p> - “It ’s a terrible thing!” he said as if answering the - look. “I can’t get it out of my mind.” His hand shook a - little reaching for the paper. “I’d give the year’s - profits—” he said slowly. - </p> - <p> - “Have to,” said the boy quietly. - </p> - <p> - The shrewd business look flashed back to the man’s face. “You - can’t tell,” he said brusquely. “We shall settle ’em - out of court—all we can.” - </p> - <p> - “Won’t it cost more?” - </p> - <p> - “A little, maybe. Some we ’ll pay a little more, perhaps, than - the court would allow. But it ’s cheaper—in the end. The - public won’t get scared. It’s bad having things gone over and - raked up for folks to read. Let ’em sleep. We ’re ready and - willing to pay costs—Keep the thing quiet. It’s only the fakes - that bother—” He gave a little sigh. - </p> - <p> - The boy was staring at the letter in his hand. He put it down and crossed - to Simeon’s desk, taking oat the handful of notes he had made the - night of the wreck. He ran them through his fingers and replaced them, - smiling a little. “What’s tha?” asked Simeon. - </p> - <p> - “I wanted to see if I made a note. I don’t think I did, but I - can remember.” He went over and picked up the letter again. “It - ’s this man Spaulding.” - </p> - <p> - A light shot to Simeon’s face. - </p> - <p> - “I think I saw him there.” - </p> - <p> - “You did!” The light had gone out suddenly. “Fight it—You - testify in court.” - </p> - <p> - The boy was looking down at the letter thoughtfully. “It ’s a - good thing I asked,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Asked what?” - </p> - <p> - “His name,” said the hoy. “I don’t know why I did - it. One of the brakemen told me. He limps a little, does n’t he?” - </p> - <p> - “He ’s the man,” said Simeon promptly. “Rascal! - Known him thirty years. He could n’t tell the straight truth if he - tried—no more ’n he can walk straight.” His mouth shut - grimly. “He won’t get a cent out of <i>this</i> road—not - while <i>I</i> run it!” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think he will,” said the boy quietly. “He - was there—at the wreck. I saw him. But he came in a buggy.” - </p> - <p> - “Buggy?” Simeon sat up. - </p> - <p> - The boy nodded. “And he went away in it.-It was while I was looking - after the freight—along toward the end. I had sealed the cars that - were n’t broken up and I was trying to tally odds and ends—Things - were scattered, you know?” - </p> - <p> - The man’s eyes assented gloomily. - </p> - <p> - “I was down in that gully to the left, looking after things, and I - came on the horse and buggy tied there—a little way in from the - road.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon was smiling now, a look of exultation in his eyes. “You saw - him?” - </p> - <p> - “He came down and got in while I was there—” - </p> - <p> - “See you?” - </p> - <p> - “It was a little off in the trees where I was; but I saw him quite - plainly. It was getting light then—four o’clock, at least.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon chuckled. He reached out a hand. “Let’s have his claim—Twenty - thousand, is it?” He looked at it. “Ten cents would buy him—body - and soul!” he said scornfully. “Just like him—to hear of - it and drive across country—five miles—to get evidence!” - He looked at John shrewdly. “Perjury’s a good thing—put - him where he belongs—where he ’ll stay put, too. He won’t - go driving across country, making up claims for damages for quite a spell, - likely, if he pushes this one.” He tapped the paper in his hand. - “Twenty thousand he wants, does he? Let him get it—work for it—making - shoes!” He replaced the letter in his desk. - </p> - <p> - “We ’ll keep that,” he said. “We won’t - trouble McKinnon with it—not just yet.” - </p> - <p> - He returned to his work, a look of satisfaction in his face, and went - through the remaining letters, laying them one side, making a note for - reference. “That’s all!” He placed the last one on its - pile and gathered up the bunch. “There ’s one thing I ’ve - noticed,” he said drily, “folks that get to handing in their - claims inside of twenty-four hours ain’t very badly damaged.” - </p> - <p> - The boy looked up absently. “Did you mean this, sir?” He had - picked up a letter from the pile and he brought it across, laying it on - Simeon’s desk. Across one corner of it a note was scrawled in Simeon’s - small, crabbed hand. - </p> - <p> - He looked at it with a snort. “Why should n’t I?” he - demanded. - </p> - <p> - John surveyed it thoughtfully. “I did n’t know but you would - like to read it again.” Simeon took it in his hand. “I’ve - read it a number of times already,” he said. “You see what it - means, don’t you?” He was looking over the top of his glasses - at the boy’s face. - </p> - <p> - The boy nodded. “They mean that you will promise to hold to the - rates of the last two years.” - </p> - <p> - “They don’t say so—” - </p> - <p> - “It <i>means</i> that,” said the boy. - </p> - <p> - Simeon nodded. “That’s what I make out. Well—I don’t - do it—I don’t promise the C., B. and L. anything. You - understand?—not <i>anything!</i>” He was glaring at the boy. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” He held out a hand. “I only wanted to make - sure.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon handed him the letter. “The C., B. and L. is a big road,” - he said. “They ’ve got smart men, but they can’t run the - ’R. and Q.’—not yet.” He pointed to the words - scrawled in the corner. “You write what I’ve marked there. Don’t - let it go downstairs.” - </p> - <p> - The boy went back to his desk. - </p> - <p> - Simeon wrote with level brows, scowling at the paper before him. By-and-by - he looked up. The boy, bending over his desk, had a troubled look. The - president of the road watched him a few minutes in silence. He pushed back - his papers. “Oh, John—?” - </p> - <p> - The boy looked up. “Yes, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you worry about that. It gives them a chance to cut. - But they’ve been doing it all along on the side. I have pretty clear - proof they carried Thornton & Birdwell last year for six—five - and three-quarters, part of the time, and a rebate besides.” - </p> - <p> - “But this means open fight,” said the boy. He was looking down - at the note. - </p> - <p> - “And it ’s what I want,” said Simeon quickly. “They’ve - had their spies on me long enough. Let ’em come out and fight for - what they get.” - </p> - <p> - The boy was still looking at the paper, a question in his eyes. “You - don’t think they will connect with the Bridgewater terminus?” - he said. - </p> - <p> - Simeon’s eyes were on him shrewdly. “I think they ’ll <i>try</i> - to.” - </p> - <p> - “And if they—do—?” - </p> - <p> - “If they do, they ’ll find they can’t—not this - year, nor next.” - </p> - <p> - The boy looked up quickly. - </p> - <p> - Simeon nodded. “You remember telling me last year that the Bardwell - farm would block their road and that you thought it could be got?” - </p> - <p> - “I knew they needed money,” said John. “They took a fair - price,” said the old man drily. - </p> - <p> - The boy’s face lighted slowly—“They can’t put - through their road!” - </p> - <p> - “Not without a lot of trouble. They can compel us to sell—maybe. - But it will take time—and it will take a lot of money,” he - said grimly. - </p> - <p> - The boy’s face answered the look in his. “You going to fight - ’em?” - </p> - <p> - The man nodded slowly. “I ’m going to fight ’em.” - He touched the letter with his hand. “Do you know what that rate - would mean for the road?” - </p> - <p> - “It has paid pretty well for two years,” said the boy - thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “And it would pay again,” said the man. He looked at the boy. - “It would pay three years—perhaps four—for the road. But - it would n’t pay the country.” - </p> - <p> - The boy looked at him, a little puzzled light in his face. - </p> - <p> - Simeon surveyed him a minute. Then he turned away, as if half ashamed. - “What did you find out from McElwain about those boilers?” - </p> - <p> - The boy glanced at the clock. “He ’s to have the statement at - five. I ’ll get it now.” When he had gone from the room, the - man sat looking thoughtfully at his desk. He could not understand the - feeling that had suddenly gripped him—a kind of shame—holding - him back from revealing to the boy his purpose. He had faced the world - with selfishness, but when virtue tried to look out from his eyes, they - had faltered and turned away. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - X - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>ohn went slowly - down the stairs, pondering the quick words that had been spoken. What did - it mean? He had never known the President of the “R. and Q.” - to give a thought for any one or anything—except the road. He must - be going to pieces—talking about the good of the country. ... The - boy had always felt, in a vague way, the region hating Simeon—his - hand against every man and every man’s hand against him—and - John had been his henchman, serving him faithfully; his quarrels had been - John’s quarrels and his battles John’s battles. Again and - again the boy’s heavier hand had steadied his; they had fought to - win and they had given no quarter. But now.... The boy’s brow - puckered in a little puzzled frown.... Now, Simeon was turning his back on - profit.... He was bringing on himself difficulties and annoyance—What - was up? He shook his head and plunged into the yard. - </p> - <p> - When he came out, he had forgotten his questioning. He held McElwain’s - statement.—The C., B. and L. account was a clear overcharge—a - mistake, perhaps; but it seemed to the boy there had been too many - mistakes of that kind in his absence; and things were coming to the - president of the road that should never have troubled him. No wonder he - looked harassed and driven. But that should be changed now. He should have - the quiet he needed for his work. The boy’s heart glowed and he - whistled lightly as he sprang up the stairs. - </p> - <p> - He laid the statement before the president. - </p> - <p> - The president grunted a little—puffs of smouldering wrath. He - searched out the C., B. and L. statement, pinning them together with quick - stab. - </p> - <p> - The boy was gathering up the letters for the mail, licking each stamp and - affixing it with slow precision in its corner, right side up. It would - have troubled John’s orderly soul had an ex-president gone out of - the office, standing on his head. In the midst of the work he stopped, his - eye held by an address on the envelope before him. He opened his mouth and - glanced at Simeon, hesitating. He drew a stamp across the convenient - tongue and placed it on the envelope, crowding it down with firm palm, his - eye still on the address. He looked again at the president and laid the - letter one side, going on with his stamps. When he had finished, he - bundled them together, the letter that he had laid aside on top. - </p> - <p> - Simeon was making ready to go, fussing a little at his desk. - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll take care of those,” said John. He came across. - “Did you want this to go?” He was holding out the letter. - </p> - <p> - Simeon dropped an eye to it curtly. “What’s the matter with - it? It’s plain, is n’t it—‘Hugh Tomlinson, - Bridgewater’?” He turned again fretfully to the desk. - </p> - <p> - The boy hesitated. “I thought it might be his dismissal?” he - said. - </p> - <p> - “It is.” - </p> - <p> - “They ’re very poor, sir.” - </p> - <p> - The man shot a look at him under keen brows. “That letter is not - about their being poor,” he said. - </p> - <p> - John laid it again on the desk. He brought Simeon’s hat, brushing it - a little and holding it out. - </p> - <p> - The man took it brusquely, crowding it on to his head, and moved toward - the door. He passed the letter without a glance. - </p> - <p> - “Good night, sir,” said John. - </p> - <p> - “Good night.” It was a half growl, muffled by the closing - door. - </p> - <p> - The boy finished his work in the room. He glanced about; it was all right - now, except the grime on the windows—and there must be some sort of - shade for them these hot days.... Awnings—? He went to the window - and leaned out, looking for fastenings.... Yes, that would do. He would - order them in the morning. His eye dropped to the street. It fell on the - figure of the president on the opposite side walking slowly and bent like - an old man. It almost seemed to the boy watching, that the figure shook a - little, as with a kind of palsy. The boy’s eyes grew deep, following - him out of sight. - </p> - <p> - Before he had turned away, he became conscious that another figure had - emerged from a doorway somewhere and was standing looking after the - feeble, retreating one. Then it turned and re-entered the building. - </p> - <p> - He closed the window, puzzling a little in his mind, half-wondering where - he had seen the man before.... He gathered up the letters from the table, - glancing at them absently.... Then it came to him—The new - bookkeeper, Harrington. The president had told him—The one that had - taken Carpenter’s place. - </p> - <p> - He went out, locking the door behind him. The letter on the top he still - held a little apart from the others, dropping it into the box by itself, - holding it back to the last, as if hoping somehow to defeat its end. When - it fell with a little swish upon the others, he turned away hurriedly. He - was thinking of Ellen’s face—Tomlinson’s wife—the - morning of the wreck. - </p> - <p> - “He done it, Johnny,” she had said piteously, wiping the - wetness from her gray cheek. “And they ’ll turn him off, but - it’s hard on an old man—and there’s not a cent laid by—not - since the bairns came. We’d a bit before that, but it went for the - boy’s burying—” The boy was Eddie, killed on the road - the year before, a brakeman—Tomlinson’s only son. John had - known him well. They had been schoolmates. “It’s hard on the - bairns,” she had said.... They had come to live with Tomlinson—a - boy and a girl. - </p> - <p> - He was walking slowly now, not thinking, hardly conscious of himself, hut - feeling the misery in the old woman’s voice. At the corner he paused - a little, staring at the opposite wall. What had he forgotten to do.... - The desks were locked and the door.... His fingers felt the key in his - pocket.... And the copy was ready for Whitcomb in the morning.... And the - windows? Yes, they were closed.... But he must go hack. He would remember - when he got there what it was.... With a little sigh he had turned back. - He walked more quickly now.... He would measure the windows for the - awnings. Perhaps that was what he was trying to remember. He sprang up the - stairs quickly and was on the upper floor almost before there was time for - thought. His coming had been swift, and perhaps too silent for a man in - the upper loft who looked up with startled glance at the sound of a foot - on the stair. He moved quickly from the place he had been standing in and - met the boy half way in the big room, his glance full of nonchalance. - </p> - <p> - John stared at him a little. Then his brow raised itself. - </p> - <p> - The man returned the look, smiling. “Jolly old place!” he - said, moving his hand toward the loft, “lots of room.” - </p> - <p> - The boy looked at him slowly. “No one comes up here,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Except the old man. I know,” said the other pleasantly, - “but I wanted some files for the morning—early. Thought I - ’d save time getting them now—Save bothering the old man, too.” - </p> - <p> - “You did n’t find them, did you?” He was looking into - the man’s eyes. - </p> - <p> - They flickered a little. “Well, I have n’t had time.” He - laughed, easily. “I only want a couple of dozen.” He moved - away a few steps. - </p> - <p> - “You won’t find them here,” said John. - </p> - <p> - “They ’re over here,” said the man, looking back. - </p> - <p> - “I guess not.” - </p> - <p> - The man moved quickly to a box and raised the cover. - </p> - <p> - The hoy looked in with a startled glance. “Those belong on the third - floor,” he said sharply. - </p> - <p> - “Very likely,” said the man. “I don’t know about - that. I ’m new here.” He had taken out a handful of the files - and closed the box. “I don’t run the business, you know. But I - know where to find things when I want ’em.” He spoke almost as - if the last words had escaped without volition. It was a challenge to the - clear eyes looking into his. - </p> - <p> - “They will be moved down tomorrow,” said the boy. “They - will be more convenient down there,” he added. - </p> - <p> - “That’s all right,” said the other smoothly. He had - recovered his temper. “Glad to have seen you.” He went softly - down the stairs, with little tripping steps that tapped. - </p> - <p> - The boy’s eyes followed him slowly. He went into the office and - closed the door behind him. For a long minute he stood looking at Simeon’s - desk. Then he went across to it. He sat down before it and tried the lid. - It was locked securely, as he had left it. He did not open it, but sat - motionless, gazing before him. Dusk settled in the room—shadows - crept in from the comers. But the boy had not stirred.... At last he - raised himself with a little sigh. He had come back none too soon. His - slow, sensitive nature felt things that he could not have said. The - president needed him—more than either of them had known! He opened - the desk deliberately and took out a handful of papers, sorting out - certain ones with mechanical fingers. Even in the dark he knew them; but - he turned on the light for a minute to make sure; he selected certain ones - and placed them together, slipping them into his pocket. Then he turned - out the little looping bulbs and went out, and left the room to the - darkness. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next morning a - new lock was on the office door and the key lay on the president’s - desk when he came in. He glanced at it sharply. “What’s that?” - </p> - <p> - “I ’ve had a new lock put on; the old one was never very good,” - said the boy. - </p> - <p> - The man took up the key and slipped it on to his key-ring without comment. - A hundred times a day the boy did things without consulting him. If he saw - any special significance in this new caution, his face gave no sign and - his hand, as it slipped the ring into his pocket, trembled no more than - usual. But his glance, as it fell on the boy through the day, held a quiet - content. - </p> - <p> - Just how wrong things had been going for the last few weeks only the - president of the road knew. It seemed almost as if there were a concerted - plan to harrow him—some hidden power, that chose maliciously his - weakest spot, at the moment when he was most off his guard. Yet he could - never lay his finger on a thing or a person that proved it. He only felt, - helplessly enmeshed by circumstance—he, who had always driven - others, chuckling at their discomfiture! But with the boy to help—Ah, - what could he not do—with the boy! His face lost its driven look. - The new awnings shaded the glare from the windows. It was almost - comfortable in the little office. - </p> - <p> - As for the boy, he was watching over Simeon with new care. Not only did - what he had seen the night before make him cautious, but Simeon’s - whole attitude troubled him. There was something about the man—broken, - hesitant—that had never been there before. He had always been - nervous, crabbed, but not like this. It was as if the spring had snapped—or - weakened helplessly under the long strain. One could not tell, at any - moment, whether it would respond to the demands made on it. Now and then - he recovered himself and spoke and acted like his old self. But again he - would relapse into uncertainty, a kind of vague fretfulness and - indecision, more trying than open collapse. It was when he spoke of the - road and its future that he grew most like himself. ... Quietly the boy - took it in—his change of purpose—and his heart moved to it in - gentle understanding. Little by little, Simeon revealed himself—a - word here, a word there—never by full explanation—watching all - the time the thought reflected in the boy’s eyes, and strengthening - his courage in the clear look as it grew and deepened. - </p> - <p> - The boy threw himself into the work, body and soul. It was good to be in - the stir of things once more. He liked to feel the steady pound of the - engine under him, as it drove to its work—to see the clear track and - the shining country.... He drew his breath full and deep, and worked night - and day, righting the things that had gone wrong, gathering details into - his hands. - </p> - <p> - Simeon Tetlow could plan an edifice that in a night should overtop the - world. But even while he planned, he let slip a myriad details—things - that fluttered and fell and went wrong and threatened the structure at its - proudest foment. The boy gathered them up one by one, little things of no - account, things too minute for Simeon’s notice—and held them - fast. - </p> - <p> - The office felt the change. The road felt it—vaguely. There was the - same driving power in the little office, high up in the roof, but steadied - and controlled—less smoke and wrath and ringing of bells in the - orders that came down from the office and a freer, heavier swing to the - big engine as it took the track. - </p> - <p> - It was absorbing work, and two weeks went by before the boy saw a chance - to break away. There had been letters from his mother every day, full of - detail—pictures of Caleb packing the dishes with clumsy fingers, or - clearing out the cellar, happy and important, in spite of the parting from - the squashes. John had smiled as he read the letters, but he had caught - the note of courage beneath and sent it back to her full of cheer.... The - moving would not be hard—with all that father had been doing. Three - days would be enough for everything and he had their new home ready for - them, a little house—seven rooms with a garden stretching to the - side and back, for Caleb to dig in. - </p> - <p> - “I can raise a few things this year,” Caleb had said when he - heard it—“Lettuce and parsley and reddishes, maybe. And next - year we ’ll have a <i>real</i> garden. I’m going to take up - some roots of daffydils and some jonquils and a stalk of that flowering - shrub by the walk.” - </p> - <p> - He was occupied with this new hope when John arrived—pottering about - with hoe and trowel—and they left him to his garden, while inside - the house John tied up furniture and packed boxes, with watchful eye upon - his mother that she should not overtax her strength before the journey. - She had been a little restless the first day of his homecoming, going from - room to room with long pauses for rest—a kind of slow pilgrimage—touching - the familiar things softly, her thin hands lingering on them as if she - might not see them again in the new home. - </p> - <p> - The boy watched a little anxiously. But her face was still and her eyes - smiling when they met his, and after the first day she sat with him while - he packed, talking of their new home and his work, and when the carriage - left the house, she did not look back—her eyes were on the boy’s - face. - </p> - <p> - It had been arranged that they should travel in the baggage-car. Simeon - had spoken gruffly of the special and John had refused it, and she herself - had chosen the baggage-car. “It will interest me, I think,” - she said. There was a free space about her steamer-chair and through the - partly-open door that framed a great picture a fresh breeze blew in, - stirring her hair and bringing a clear color to her cheeks. Her eyes were - like stars, looking out on the fields, and she grew like a child with the - miles. John’s heart lightened as he watched her. What a thing of - courage she was! Sheer courage. Just a frail body to give it foothold on - the earth. The boy could not have said it, but he felt it—through - every dull fiber—the courage that he could never match, but that had - been before every day of life.... He need not have feared the journey for - her—She made holiday of it! - </p> - <p> - After a little he left her and went forward. He had seen a man sitting at - the farther end of the car, bent forward, his elbows resting on his knees, - his gaze on the floor of the car. - </p> - <p> - He did not look up as John paused beside him, and the boy seated himself - on a box. - </p> - <p> - After a time he looked up. “You ’re taking her to the Port?” - He nodded toward the steamer-chair. - </p> - <p> - “We ’re all going down.” - </p> - <p> - “I heerd it,” said the man. He relapsed into silence. The - train thundered on with hoarse stops and fierce quickening of power as it - left the stations behind. - </p> - <p> - The man lifted his head. “He ’s a hard man!” he said. He - fixed his reddened eyes on the boy’s face. “I’ve served - the road—man and boy—forty year.” He said the words - slowly, as if they were important. They became a kind of chant in the roar - of the train—“And now I’m turned off.” - </p> - <p> - John waited a minute. His slow mind did not find words to speak to the - haggard face. “I’m going down to see him,” said the man. - “The president!”. - </p> - <p> - He nodded slowly and solemnly. “They say he ’s a hard man. But - he shall hear it to his face—what I ’ve got to say!” - </p> - <p> - “You ’re going to ask him for work?” - </p> - <p> - “I ’ve asked it—three times. I ’ll ask it four - times,” said the man. “And after that I ’ll curse him.” - </p> - <p> - The boy made a quick motion. - </p> - <p> - The old face lifted itself, with a tragic look, toward the car. “Is - there aught a man can do?” he demanded. “They ’ve shook - the strength out of me for forty year on the road.... They ’ll not - take it from me! ... They ’ve drove me up and down—cold and - rain—wind that cut my in’ards—till I ’m fit for - naught but the switch.... They ’ll not take it from me!” It - was a solemn cry. - </p> - <p> - The boy listened to it, for a moment, as it died away. The train roared - its echo mockingly. He reached out a hand and laid it on the rough knee. - “Don’t go down today, Tomlinson,” he said slowly. - “I want to see him first.” - </p> - <p> - The old man stared at him with grim eyes. “Ye think ye can help me - with him?” he asked sharply. - </p> - <p> - “I <i>know</i> I can. But you must wait. I have my mother to look - after. I can’t be at the office—yet. Wait till I ’m - there. You take the next train back and I ’ll write you.” - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll not go back,” said the old man slowly, “I - ’ll not face Ellen without news—good or bad. But I ’ll - stop off to my daughter’s—in Hudson. Ye can write me there and - I ’ll come.” - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll write you before the week ’s up,” said - John. “You may not need to come down.” - </p> - <p> - “I thank ye, Johnny,” said the old man. The train had halted - at Hudson and he got stiffly to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “It ’s what Eddie al’ays said about you, you ’d - help a man out—gi’e you time!” He chuckled feebly, with - returning hope, and climbed down from the car. - </p> - <p> - His mother’s glance met him as he returned to her side. - </p> - <p> - He nodded. “He was going down to see the president. But I ’ve - got him to wait.... They ought to do something for him,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Is he strong enough to work?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s not strong—except in an emergency, maybe—but - he ’s faithful. That ought to count.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that ought to count.” She said the words softly under - her breath. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHN was not back - at the office “within the week.” He forgot the office and - Simeon Tetlow and Tomlinson. He had eyes only for a white face looking up - to him from the pillow and his ear listened only for low moans that broke - the darkness. The spirit of courage had driven the thin body a step beyond - the line where the soul has its way, and the body had turned and struck - back. - </p> - <p> - Tomlinson, waiting in his daughter’s home, wondered a little at the - silence, but waited, on the whole, content. Since his talk with John a - hope had sprung up in him that, somehow, the boy would do for him what he - could never do for himself. He had started out for Bayport more because he - wanted to look Simeon Tetlow in the face than because he hoped for justice - at his hands. But since he had talked with the hoy, his purpose had - changed imperceptibly and his shrewd Scotch sense of justice asserted - itself. He would speak the president of the road fair. The man should have - his chance. He should not be condemned unheard. So Tomlinson waited, his - sullen mood passing gently into tolerance. - </p> - <p> - But his daughter, a buxom woman, many years Eddie’s senior, grew - impatient at the delay. She prodded Tomlinson a little for his inaction. - </p> - <p> - “What is it like, that Johnny Bennett—a slip of a boy—can - do for ye with Simeon Tetlow?” she had demanded scornfully when the - week had gone by and no word had come. - </p> - <p> - “He has a way ye can trust, Jennie—the boy has,” the old - man had replied. - </p> - <p> - “Best trust yourself,” said the woman. - </p> - <p> - “Go and stan’ up before Sim Tetlow. Tell him to his face what - ye want. And if he won’t give it to ye—then <i>curse him!</i>” - </p> - <p> - So the old man wavered forth, half driven to a task to which he felt - himself unequal. But his reliance was on the boy. He would find him and - ask what to do. - </p> - <p> - “John Bennett?” The assistant bookkeeper, hurrying back from - luncheon a little late, paused in the doorway, looking at the tall, - red-eyed Scotchman who put the anxious question. - </p> - <p> - “John Bennett?” He wrinkled his brow a little, as if trying to - place so unimportant a person—“I think he works up above—top - floor. Take the elevator.” He passed on, chuckling a little at the - invasion of the sacred territory. “‘Nobody comes up here,’” - he said mincingly, as he drew the ledger toward him and plunged into work, - harrying to make ap lost time. - </p> - <p> - Tomlinson looked a little fearfully at the iron cage, plying up and down. - He cast an eye about for the more friendly stairway. He was not afraid of - any engine, however mighty and plunging, that held to solid earth, keeping - its track with open sky; but these prisoned forces and office slaves, - clacking back and forth in their narrow walls, and elevators knocking at a - man’s stomach, were less to his mind. He climbed laboriously up the - long stairs, flight after flight, his spent breath gasping at each turn. - At the top floor he gazed around him, his mouth a little open. - </p> - <p> - “A queer place for the lad,” he said to himself, his faith in - John oozing a little as he walked across and knocked at the door of the - room. - </p> - <p> - There was a moment’s silence; then the scraping legs of a chair, and - silence. - </p> - <p> - Tomlinson had raised his hand ready to rap again. The door receded before - his knuckles.... - </p> - <p> - It was the president of the road, himself, Simeon Tetlow—whom all - men hated and feared—standing there grim and terrible. - </p> - <p> - Tomlinson’s nerveless hand rose to his hat. - </p> - <p> - “I’m wanting to ask you something, sir.” - </p> - <p> - The man surveyed him with a scowl. “Who told you to come up here?” - he demanded. - </p> - <p> - “It were Johnny Bennett, sir.” - </p> - <p> - The scowling face changed subtly. It seemed to grow more human beneath its - mask. - </p> - <p> - Tomlinson took heart. “It’s only a word I want with you, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Come in.” - </p> - <p> - Tomlinson shut the door circumspectly and stood turning his hat in his - fingers. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” - </p> - <p> - “It ’s the place, sir—I ’m Tomlinson,” he - said.“<i>Oh—you—are—Tomlinson</i>—” - </p> - <p> - The old man shrank a little, as if each word had struck him lightly in the - face. Then he raised his head. “I ’ve served the road forty - year,” he said, repeating his lesson, “and I’ve never - done harm. I’ve worked early and I’ve worked late for ye, and - never a word of complaint.” - </p> - <p> - The president of the road stirred sharply. “The Bridgewater wreck—” - </p> - <p> - The old man raised his hand. “It’s that I wanted to speak - about, Mr. Tetlow.” There was a simple dignity in the words. “I’d - been on duty seventeen hour—and ten hour before that—with not - a wink of sleep. They run us hard on the hours, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “The other men stand it—the young men.” The words had a - kind of cutting emphasis. - </p> - <p> - The old man raised his red eyes. “They’ve not gi’ed - their strength to the road, sir, as I have—” He threw out a - hand. “The road’s had all o’ me.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon eyed him keenly, the bent look and worn shoulders. His glance - traveled up and down the thin frame slowly.... Not an ounce of work left - in him. - </p> - <p> - “We ’ve no place for incompetents,” he said, turning - away. - </p> - <p> - Tomlinson made a step forward, as if he would touch him with his hands. - Then he stood quiet. “There might be a boy’s place, sir—” - </p> - <p> - The man wheeled sharply, driven without and within—“I tell you - we’ve nothing for you. You ’ve done your work. You ’ve - had your pay. You ’re used up.” It was the biting truth and - the old man shrank before it. - </p> - <p> - “I can’t spend any more time on you,” said the president - of the road. He turned decisively to his desk. - </p> - <p> - For a moment Tomlinson stood with bent head. Then he raised his red-rimmed - eyes, fixing them on the man before him. His right hand lifted itself - significantly. “May the God in heaven curse ye, Simeon Tetlow, as ye - have cursed me this day. May He shrivel ye, body and soul, in hell—” - The words were shrill. “Curse ye—curse ye!” - </p> - <p> - He drew a step nearer, his eyes still on the other’s face.... - Gradually a change seemed to come over him. The bent figure straightened - itself. It towered above the president of the road, filling the little - room. The chieftain of some mighty Highland clan might have stood thus, - defying his enemy. His lifted right hand grew tense and flung itself, and - a torrent of broad Scotch poured forth. Words of fire, heard in Tomlinson’s - boyhood and forgotten long since, were on his tongue. The elemental - passions were afire within him. Like the slow-burning peat of his native - bogs, his soul, nourishing its spark through the years, had blazed forth—a - scorching torrent. The words rolled on, a mighty flood, enveloping the man - before him. Scathing tongues of flame darted at him and drew back, and - leaped high—to fall in fiery, stinging showers on his head. - </p> - <p> - At the first words of the imprecation the president of the road had lifted - his head with a little smile—almost of scorn—on his lips, as - one might watch some domestic animal reverting to its ancestral rage. But - as the broad Scotch rolled on—stem, implacable and sinister—the - smile faded a little and the man seemed to shrivel where he stood, as if - some fiery blast touched him. When he raised his head again, the look in - his eyes was of cold steel. - </p> - <p> - He waited a minute after the voice had ceased, then he lifted his hand - quietly. “You ’ve had your say, Tomlinson. Now I ’ll say - mine—You leave this office and you leave the road. You ’ll - never touch brake or throttle or switch on it again. You ’re not fit—do - you understand!” - </p> - <p> - He moved his hand toward the door and Tomlinson went out, a tottering old - man once more. - </p> - <p> - For a long minute the president of the road stood staring at the closed - door. The hand that had pointed to it had not trembled; but now it began - subtly, as if of its own will, to move. Slowly the vibration communicated - itself to the whole frame till the man threw himself into a chair, broken - from head to foot. He leaned toward his desk, gasping a little. “My - God!” he said under his breath, “My God!” He lifted his - hand and wiped the moisture from his forehead with the dazed look of one - who has come through some mighty upheaval unharmed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>nother week went - by before John was free to go back. The day before his return he received - a letter, addressed in a huge, sprawling hand: - </p> - <p> - I seen him. I cursed him. - </p> - <p> - Hugh Tomlinson. - </p> - <p> - Simeon made no reference to the visit or the curse, and John waited, - wondering a little whether it might be possible, even now, to undo the - consequences of the old man’s folly. - </p> - <p> - That there was any connection between Simeon’s growing weakness and - the old Scotchman’s visit did not occur to him. There were - difficulties enough in the office to account for it without going outside. - As the days went by and he watched the worn face, he grew more anxious. A - look haunted the eyes—something almost crafty—they gazed at - the simplest thing as if unseen terror lurked in it; and he started at any - sudden noise as one pursued.... When John, leaning across the desk, pushed - a book to the floor, he leaped to his feet, his hand upraised to strike, - his lip drawn back from his teeth in quick rage. - </p> - <p> - That night John made a midnight journey, traveling all night and coming - back at dawn. He had been to consult Dr. Blake, the great specialist, - laying the case before him—withholding only the name of the man - whose health was in question. - </p> - <p> - The physician had listened, his head a little bent, his eyes looking out - as if seeing the man whom John described. “It’s the same story—I - hear it every day,” he said. “I call it Ameri-canitis—It - does n’t make much difference what you call it.... He must stop work—at - once.” - </p> - <p> - “He won’t do it,” said John as promptly. - </p> - <p> - The physician looked at him keenly. “I suppose not—one of the - symptoms. You have influence with him—?” - </p> - <p> - John shook his head slowly. “Not enough for that. I might get him to - do other things, perhaps.” - </p> - <p> - The physician nodded. - </p> - <p> - “He would take medicine?” - </p> - <p> - John smiled at the picture. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps.” He waited a little. “I ’m afraid he - ’s losing his mind,” he said. “That’s really what - I want to know—I don’t dare let him go on.” - </p> - <p> - The physician assented. “If I could see him ten minutes, I could - tell, perhaps—more. But not in the dark, like this. You ask too - much,” he said with a smile. - </p> - <p> - John gave a quick sigh. “He will never come to you,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The physician had drawn a paper toward him and was writing on it. “I - can give certain general directions. If they don’t help, he <i>must</i> - come.” - </p> - <p> - John waited while the pen scratched on. “These baths,” said - the physician, “are good. They may help.” - </p> - <p> - John’s eyes grew dubious—a little wide with anxiety. - </p> - <p> - “These other things,” went on the physician, “are for - your discretion. He ’s probably under-nourished. Raw eggs will give - him what he needs—tax him least.” - </p> - <p> - “How many?” asked John. - </p> - <p> - “All you can get into him.” - </p> - <p> - The young man’s eyes grew larger—at the way before him.... - </p> - <p> - “He does n’t half breathe, I suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “I—I don’t know,” said John. - </p> - <p> - “Watch him. Take him in hand. He must breathe deep—all the - time, night and day. Here, I will show you.” He put his hand on the - young man’s chest. “Go on—I ’ll tell you when to - stop—” He held the hand in place a few minutes, then he - withdrew it with a smile. “Tell him to breathe like that,” he - said quietly. “He ’ll get well then.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t everybody breathe that way?” asked the youth - helplessly. - </p> - <p> - The physician laughed out. “If they did, they would n’t be - nervous wrecks.” He handed him the list of instructions. “He - must be spared any nervous worry, of course. That is the most important of - all. Good-by. If he gets unmanageable, send him to me.” - </p> - <p> - “I wish I could,” said John with a little smile that was half - a frown. He was not appalled at the details of nursing thrust upon him. He - had cared for his mother too long and skilfully to be worried by these. - But Simeon—yielding gracefully to being dieted—told what to - eat and how to breathe and little things like that—! - </p> - <p> - During the home journey he devoted himself to planning ambushes for Simeon’s - obstinacy; and when, after a vigorous bath, he arrived at the office, he - was equipped with a dozen “strictly fresh” eggs in a paper - bag; a small egg-beater in one pocket and a flask of brandy in the other. - This last was a little addition of John’s own—prompted by - wisdom, and a knowledge of Simeon. He put the eggs carefully on a high - shelf. It would not do to rouse untimely prejudice against them by - untoward accidents. The egg-beater and brandy he concealed skilfully - behind a row of ledgers. When Simeon entered a little later, irritable and - suspicious, there was no sign that the office was to be turned into a kind - of fresh air hospital. - </p> - <p> - The windows were open and a little breeze came in. John, refreshed by his - bath, was hard at work, the broad, phlegmatic back a kind of huge mountain - of strength. The little man threw himself into his chair with a grunt. He - would rest more looking at that back than he could in a bed all night, - tossing and turning through the hours. - </p> - <p> - Schemes had haunted him—visions for the road—New tracks to be - run—new regulations. Investments along the route, a little here and - a little there, not for the corporation, but to build up the country—capital - to help out feeble enterprises. And athwart the visions ran black shadows—disturbing - dreams of the C., B. and L., always waiting, weapon in hand, to spring - upon him.... If only they would fight fair! He had tossed restlessly, - seeking a cool place for his tired head. There was no time to spend in - fighting.—So much to be done—his whole life-work to build - anew.... Then he had fallen again to staring at the vision as it flared - across the night, the vision of light and wonder.... When morning came, he - had slept perhaps an hour.. - </p> - <p> - But here, in the cool office, he could rest. The boy came and went with - quiet step, his hand everywhere, yet without hurry, and his thought - running always ahead of Simeon’s, smoothing the way. - </p> - <p> - The president of the road had intended to rest, but before he knew it, he - was hurrying feverishly to finish a letter for the ten o’clock mail. - His head throbbed and his hand, as it dipped the pen in the ink, shook - quick spatters across the paper. He swore under his breath, dabbing the - blotter here and there.... There was a gentle shiver of egg shell, a - little whirring sound that buzzed, and then, upon the air of the room, a - subtle, pervasive odor. Simeon raised his head and sniffed. Then he looked - around. The boy was at his elbow. - </p> - <p> - “You’d better take this, sir,” he said casually. He set - it down beside him, picked up a pile of papers and returned to his own - desk. - </p> - <p> - Simeon dropped an eye to the glass of yellow foam. He looked hastily away. - He particularly and fervently hated an egg—and an egg that foamed—“Bah!” - He wrote savagely, the gentle odor stealing up wooingly, appealingly to - his nostrils. He moved restlessly in his chair, throwing back his head, as - if to shake it off. Then his hand reached out slowly—shook a little—and - closed upon it. - </p> - <p> - John, with his back to him, went on slowly sorting papers. When he looked - around, the glass, with its little flecks of foam, stood empty and Simeon - was writing fiercely. The boy took the glass to the faucet and washed it, - humming a little, gentle tune to himself as the water ran. The first step - in a long and difficult way had been taken. - </p> - <p> - But no one knew better than John that it was only a first step and that - the road ahead was strewn with difficulties.... It was at the seventh egg - that Simeon rebelled openly, and John was forced to retire upon - six-thankful to have achieved as much as this, and thankful to have - discovered the limit. “As many as you can get into him,” the - physician had said. John had not known what this number might be, until - the day of the explosion—when the seventh egg was proffered and - rejected. - </p> - <p> - He had swept up the fragments of glass and repaired damages with grateful - heart.... Six a day was the limit. But there ought to be a great deal of - nourishment in six eggs. - </p> - <p> - That there was, Simeon’s conduct proved. He rose to a kind of new, - fierce strength that exhausted itself each day. - </p> - <p> - “He ’s just eggs!” thought the youth, watching him - gloomily. “He has n’t gained an inch. It all goes into work.” - And he set himself anew to spare the nervous, driven frame. - </p> - <p> - There were times when he hoped, for a little, that a permanent gain had - been made. But an emergency would arise and three days would be used up in - one blaze of wrath. - </p> - <p> - The C., B. and L. was tireless in its attacks, goading him on, nagging him—now - here, now there—till he shook his nervous fists, palpitating, in - air. - </p> - <p> - “They’ve held back those machines on purpose,” he said, - one morning, late in September. - </p> - <p> - “Those machines” were a consignment of harvesters, sidetracked - somewhere along the C., B. and L. and not to be located. The “B. and - Q.” had been telegraphing frantically for weeks—only to - receive cool and regretful apologies. Farmers were besieging the road. A - whole crop depended on the issue. - </p> - <p> - Simeon tossed the last telegram to John with a grunt. “We ’ll - have to give it up,” he said grimly, “it’s too late. But - they shall pay for it—if there is a law in the land, they shall make - it good—every cent. Think of that crop—wasted for deviltry!” - He groaned suddenly and the hand resting on the desk trembled heavily. - </p> - <p> - “You could n’t have helped it, sir,” said John. “They - would have done it, anyway, and you’ve made them trouble enough.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know—I don’t know.” He turned his - head restlessly, as if pursued. “I think any other man would have - made ’em.” - </p> - <p> - The young man laughed out. “They ’re afraid of you, sir—for - their life! You ’ve <i>made</i> the ’R. and Q.’” - </p> - <p> - The man gulped a little. He glanced suspiciously at the door. “I’ve - ruined it, I think,” he said slowly. “<i>There ’s a - curse on everything I touch!</i>” - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense! Look at <i>me!</i>” The young man threw back his - head, choosing the first words at hand to banish the look in Simeon’s - face. It was this look—the shadow haunting the eyes, that troubled - him. Sometimes when he turned and caught it, his own heart seemed suddenly - to stop its beat, at what it saw there. “Look at me!” he said - laughing. “You have n’t ruined <i>me!</i>” - </p> - <p> - The man looked at him—a long, slow, hopeless look. Then he shook his - head. “It’s no use, John. I’m broken—! The road - has used all of me—” He stopped suddenly, his gaze fixed on - the floor.... A memory rang in his ear. The high Scotch voice thrilled - through it. “They’ve not gi’e their strength to the - road, as I have. The road’s had all o’ me.” - </p> - <p> - That night John visited Dr. Blake again. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he assistant - bookkeeper had returned from his two weeks’ vacation—most of - which had been spent in the vicinity of the main offices of the C., B. and - L.—feeling a little sore. He had not been treated with the respect - due to a person entrusted with important interests. Certain reports which - represented hours of faithful work had been looked upon as of little - worth, and others—facts most difficult, even dangerous, to obtain—had - been demanded crassly. Moreover, his statement that the president of the - “R. and Q.” was practically a broken-down man had been openly - flouted. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t know him,” the manager of the C., B. and L. - had declared, sitting back in his big chair. “He’s been a - broken-down man for years. I’d like to be broken-down, myself, the - way he is, a little while!” Eds chair creaked comfortably. “He - ’s a steel trap! That ’s what he is!” he said sharply. - “Look out for your fingers.” - </p> - <p> - The assistant bookkeeper had smiled ruefully, rubbing the fingers - together. “Of course, I’ve never seen him before,” he - said respectfully, “but if I know a man that ’s pretty near - frazzled out—he ’s the man. There’s nothing to him but a - blaze.” - </p> - <p> - “You don’t know him,” said the manager brusquely. He - took a sealed envelope from the desk and held it out.... “When you - report again, we want the names of all parties shipping, with rates—and - rebates,” he added significantly. “This won’t do, you - know.” He tapped the report that had cost the assistant bookkeeper - many anxious hours—lightly with his finger. - </p> - <p> - The bookkeeper, whose hand almost of itself had reached out for the - envelope, hesitated a little. “I don’t know that I shall stay - with the ’R. and Q.,’” he said softly. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you!” The manager’s keen eyes read his - little soul through—and smiled. “You have n’t any - particular position in mind where you can draw a better salary for keeping - one set of books, have you!” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know that I have—just now.” The tone was - defiant—but wobbly. - </p> - <p> - “All right, stay where you are. You won’t do better. Take my - advice. You ’re getting along all right.” - </p> - <p> - The assistant bookkeeper glanced again at the envelope—and took it. - “You better see Tetlow, yourself,” he said as he went out. - </p> - <p> - The manager nodded. “You ’re all right,” he repeated. - </p> - <p> - “Harrington will bear watching,” he said to the division - superintendent. “I don’t trust him.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t trust anybody,” said the superintendent. “You - won’t get fooled.” - </p> - <p> - “I wish I knew the truth about Sim Tetlow,” went on the other. - “It would be just like him to pretend he was a wreck, and then - spring on us and paw us all over while we ’re getting ready to - squeeze him.... You can’t trust Harrington. He works for his pay.” - He touched the report a little scornfully. “But who knows that - Tetlow is n’t paying him—to say that he ’s a wreck—That - makes three salaries—?” - </p> - <p> - “Go and see for yourself,” said the other curtly. - </p> - <p> - The manager’s face grew thoughtful. The shrewd light spread to his - fat cheeks. “It ’s a good idea. I ’ll do it—right - off.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>OHNS’s - second visit to Dr. Blake was much briefer than the first. - </p> - <p> - The doctor had refused to advise further without direct consultation. - “I must see the man,” he said decisively. - </p> - <p> - And when John had demurred, he had asked the patient’s name. - </p> - <p> - “Simeon Tetlow!” he said thoughtfully, but smiling a little. - “Why did n’t you tell me at first it was Sim Tetlow?” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know him?” asked John. - </p> - <p> - “I knew him years ago, in college. He was n’t what he is now—more - human blood. I knew him pretty well up to the time he was married.” - </p> - <p> - John looked up. “I did n’t know he was married!” - </p> - <p> - “A beautiful woman,” said the doctor, “too good for him—She - died the next year—and the baby—That was twenty years ago and - more........ So it’s Sim! I might have guessed. There is n’t a - man in a thousand miles that fits the case as he does—Driving - himself to death!” - </p> - <p> - The young man waited directions. - </p> - <p> - “Send him to me,” said the doctor. “He ’ll come—Yes. - He won’t mind seeing <i>me!</i>” He laughed a little. - </p> - <p> - John started for home with lighter heart. Simeon would obey the great - doctor—and all would be well. He even slept a little on the way. But - when the train reached Bay-port, it was not yet three o’clock. He - hesitated as he left the station. He had not expected to reach home before - morning and his mother was not expecting him. She would be sure to waken—perhaps - lie awake the rest of the night. He turned his steps toward the “R. - and Q.” office building. There was a cushioned settle in the little - upper office; he had had it brought in lately—in the hope that - Simeon would use it. He would spend the rest of the night there, and be on - hand in the morning. - </p> - <p> - He turned the key noiselessly in the lock and went in. The great building - lay silent and shadowy as he made his way from room to room, up flight - after flight of long stairs, guided only by the sense of touch and - familiarity. The darkness about him seemed filled with whispers—plots, - counterplots. He felt them vaguely, as he climbed—yet with a certain - serenity of heart. Simeon would see Dr. Blake. All would be right. Let the - master of the road once be master of himself and the shadows would melt. - He crossed the upper loft and went into the little room. The air was - stifling, after the freshness outside, and he threw open the windows, - leaning out to breathe deep. He heard the roar of the engine coming into - the yard on the still air and saw the lights gleam through the smoke. - </p> - <p> - It was a wonderful night. The deep September sky twinkled with stars and - far below him, the city, dark and mysterious and sad, lifted its - glimmering lamps. They broke the darkness, luminous, faint—like some - inner meaning. The youth looking down had a sudden, quickened sense of - power, vast issues, mighty interests. The city slept at his feet, - beautiful, relaxed. Fold upon fold of darkness wrapped it round and his - heart went out to it—helpless there in the darkness—and in its - midst, Simeon—asleep or awake—waiting the new day. A fresh - loyalty to the man swelled within him. The sleeping city touched him in a - way he could not name—its mighty power cradled in the night in - sleep. - </p> - <p> - He threw himself on the couch and slept. - </p> - <p> - It was the lightest click... but he sat up, his eyes fixed on darkness. - The lock clicked again and the door swung open. He felt it move softly - through the black, and close again. A footstep crossed the floor. John - waited. He was leaning forward, staring before him, his slow mind - wrestling with the sounds that came and went, lightly. He was unarmed. He - had only his hands; he clinched them a little and felt the muscles swell - behind them. He was not altogether defenceless! - </p> - <p> - The sounds puzzled him. They were methodical, deliberate—not as if - finding out the way, but as if accustomed to the place and to darkness. - ... Simeon Tetlow, himself?—The thought flashed at him and drew - back. ... A light stole through the gloom—the focused glow of the - electric pocket candle on a desk across the room—Simeon’s - desk. - </p> - <p> - John leaned forward, holding his breath. - </p> - <p> - ... Behind the candle, a vague form—a massive head and shoulders, - bending above the lock of the desk.... The key was fitted in and the top - lifted. Then, for the first time, the man seemed to hesitate, his head - turning itself a little in the shadow and waiting, as if disturbed. The - glow of the candle suddenly went out and the steps moved stealthily. John - straightened himself—the clinched hand ready.... The steps receded - slowly and a hand fumbled at the open window, lowering it without sound - and drawing down the thick shade. The man moved to the other window and - closed it. The youth on the lounge caught the muttered sound of his own - name, as if in imprecation.... Then the steps again. ... And suddenly the - soft candle—shining in the dark. - </p> - <p> - The man reached into the half-gloom of the desk for a ledger. He seemed to - know without hesitation which he wanted. He opened it and fell to work, - apparently in the middle of a page, the sinister eye of the candle - traveling up and down the columns, the scratching pen transcribing figures - to a kind of muttered accompaniment. - </p> - <p> - John recognized the book, in the shadowy light.... He ought not to have - left it there. He had more than half guessed this thing before.... So this - was the reason why Hemenway & Hill countermanded their order for fifty - cars, a week ago, and Gardner & Hutchinson changed their mind about - shipping their wheat the thirtieth... and this thing had been going on for - weeks?—months?... No, it was only within six weeks that the book had - been tampered with.... His mind ran back over the time, fitting each - coincidence in place.... So this was it! It was state prison for the - man.... But suppose he were not arrested?... Suppose he were let to go - free—in fear of his life.... John, watching, gauged the man, sitting - there in the night, his busy pen writing his own doom.... He should go on - sending the reports. The enemy should have their bulletin from day to day, - but it should be compiled by John Bennett. The scribe should have only the - work of copying.... It might save time if the arrangement were completed - now. He moved his hand a trifle toward the wall behind him, groping a - little. The next minute the room was a blaze of light and the man at the - desk was on his feet, stifling a quick cry—blinking at the looping - bulbs of light. He made a swift step toward the door; but some one, - broad-shouldered and smiling, stood against it. - </p> - <p> - “Sit down, Harrington,” said John quietly. - </p> - <p> - The man’s hands swung out blindly. Then they fell to his sides. He - was panting a little, as if he had come a long distance. But his eyes were - fixed on John’s face with a little sneer. “Think you ’re - clever, don’t you!” he said doggedly. - </p> - <p> - “I wish I were,” said John, “though it does n’t - seem to have done you much good,” he added after a moment. - </p> - <p> - The man’s fingers were fumbling at the desk, striving to gather up - and destroy the papers jotted with figures. - </p> - <p> - “Let those alone!” said John. - </p> - <p> - The fingers ceased their work, but they still moved restlessly, playing on - the air. The sudden fright had done its work.... Quietly, bit by bit, John - laid the plan before him. - </p> - <p> - “But I tell you I don’t <i>dare</i> do it,” said the - man. His voice was a kind of shrill moan. - </p> - <p> - “Do you dare <i>not</i> to?” asked the young man. - </p> - <p> - There was silence in the room. - </p> - <p> - “All right.” It was crafty, with a sullen note just below the - surface. “You give me the figures and I ’ll copy ’em and - send ’em.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>I</i> will send them,” said John slowly, “and so - long as you play fair, no one else knows it. But if you betray us by one - breath—I give the matter over to President Tetlow—” - </p> - <p> - The man had started. “No,—You won’t do that—No!” - He was almost cowering before him. - </p> - <p> - John smiled a little, looking down at him. So it was still a name to - conjure with! His mind wandered inconsequently to the bag of eggs on the - high shelf and the egg-beater hanging on its nail behind the cupboard - door. The man little knew that they were President Tetlow. He was still a - terror to evil doers. “One breath—and I tell him!” said - John sternly. - </p> - <p> - The man shrank a little. “I ’ll do it,” he said. He, - himself, could not have accounted for the fear that held him. He knew that - the president of the “R. and Q.” road was a broken man; he had - sworn it to the manager of the C. B. and L.; but none the less he was - afraid. A phrase that he had heard long since, stirred in his mind—“You - don’t cross Sim Tetlow and live!” He wanted to live—the - assistant bookkeeper—he desired earnestly to live—and to - prosper. He had done his best for years—Yet it seemed always to - evade him. - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll do it all right for you—I ’ll act on the - square,” he said magnanimously. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no—You ’ll do what you have to,” said John. - </p> - <p> - A sudden hatred of this young man flared in the assistant bookkeeper’s - heart. Then he remembered the look in Nixon’s face—manager of - the C. B. and L.—the day he had seen him last. It struck him that - the two looks were curiously alike. “I hate Nixon!” he said - viciously, “I ’ll be glad to get one on him.” - </p> - <p> - “Does n’t he pay you well?” asked John. - </p> - <p> - The man writhed a little. “That’s my affair,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “All right. Keep it your affair,” said John. “He ’ll - pay you—same as ever—and you ’re to take it.” - </p> - <p> - The man stared at him. His jaw had dropped a little. He moved toward the - door. “You ’re a deep un. I don’t want anything to do - with you.... I can’t face Nixon—every month, I tell you. He’d - kill me!” - </p> - <p> - “You face him—or Simeon Tetlow,” John said. “You - take your choice.” He moved back from the door and the man stepped - toward it. He opened it quickly and went out. The sound of his footsteps, - hurrying as if pursued, died away in the outer loft. - </p> - <p> - The young man stood for a moment looking thoughtfully at the disordered - desk. Then he gathered up the papers and returned the ledger to its place. - He locked the desk and turned off the blaze of light before he opened the - windows. He stood looking down at the city in the mysterious night. Then - he threw himself on the couch and slept till the morning. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>IMEON was tearing - open his morning’s mail, fussing and growling. “There ’s - another—” He tossed it to John. - </p> - <p> - The young man read it without comment. It was from the farmers of Elk Horn - County—the second within a month—accusing the road of keeping - back cars to force up rates. - </p> - <p> - “They’ve had their share,” grumbled Simeon from his - mail. - </p> - <p> - “More, too,” said John. He scowled his brow a little. “No. - 8 brought in thirty-five empties yesterday,” he said slowly. - </p> - <p> - Simeon wheeled a little, “Where to?” - </p> - <p> - “Somers—most of them.” - </p> - <p> - “And Somers shall have ’em,” said Simeon. He wheeled - back again. “Let the Elk Horners run a road of their own. They know - so much. Let their press agent get at it—Make cars out o’ wind - and haul ’em with talk.” He plunged again into the mail, - tearing and gritting his way through. Suddenly there was silence in the - room—A long hush— - </p> - <p> - The young man looked around. - </p> - <p> - The president of the road was huddled a little forward, his eyes on a - letter that his shaking hands tried in vain to steady. - </p> - <p> - John stepped quickly to his side. But the man did not look up. His eyes - seemed glued to the few lines that covered the page. When the shaking hand - dropped to the desk, he sat staring at nothing where the lines had been. - </p> - <p> - John went out noiselessly and mixed an egg and placed it beside him. He - knew from the look in Simeon’s face that he had not slept, and he - guessed that he had had no breakfast. - </p> - <p> - “You ’d better take this, sir,” he said quietly. - </p> - <p> - Simeon’s hand groped a little toward it and drew back. “I tell - you I can’t see him,” he said sharply. - </p> - <p> - “Who is it, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “Nixon—” He touched the paper beside him. “He - wants to talk over rates. I tell you I can’t see him—I can’t!” - It was almost a cry. - </p> - <p> - The young man took up the letter. “Perhaps you won’t need to, - sir.” His slow eyes were on the words. “It’s only the - rates,” he said thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “Do you believe it?” The president of the road leaned toward - him a little, hissing the words at him. “He says what he wants is an - appointment for seeing <i>me!</i>” He lifted the haggard face, the - bitter laugh drawing back the thin lips from his teeth. “What do you - think our stock ’d be worth the next day? I tell you it ’s a - trap!” He lifted his shaking hand. He looked at the light through - it. “He wants to see <i>me!</i>” he repeated bitterly. “Let - him come,” he said shrilly; “let him—” The hand - dropped to the desk. “I ’ve lost my nerve, John!” he - whispered helplessly. “I’ve lost my nerve!” - </p> - <p> - “Better take your egg, sir,” said John. - </p> - <p> - Simeon reached out blindly and gulped it down. His hand quivered as he - wiped the little yellow line from his lips. - </p> - <p> - John’s eyes were on his face—“Had you thought of seeing - Dr. Blake?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - The hand paused in mid air. “Yes—I’d—thought—of - that.” - </p> - <p> - The young man picked up the letter. “Wednesday ’s Nixon’s - day, is n’t it? Why not see Dr. Blake Wednesday?” - </p> - <p> - The man leaned forward. “What about Nixon?” - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll see Nixon, sir,” said John. - </p> - <p> - Simeon stared at him a minute—“What would you say to him!” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know—yet.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon stared again. Then he chuckled a little. “I believe you - could,” he said grimly. “He ’d go away thinking I was a - prizefighter!” - </p> - <p> - John’s hand rested lightly on the shaking one, holding it firm, and - his eyes were on the quivering, driven face. “He ’d go away - thinking the truth, sir—that you are a big man.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon smiled a little shame-facedly, drawing away the hand. “I - ’m a big fool,” he said shortly. “There is n’t a - bigger anywhere—except you!” - </p> - <p> - The young man’s face expressed content. “You will see Dr. - Blake?” - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll see Blake—yes.” The shadow had returned - again to his face, blotting out hope. He had drawn a sheet of paper toward - him. - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll see Blake if you want me to. But Blake can’t help—” - </p> - <p> - “Blake can, if anybody can,” said John stoutly. - </p> - <p> - “If anybody can—yes.” It was a half whisper. He was - writing wearily, like an old man. Presently the pen stopped and he sat - staring before him.... A little look of hope stole into the set face. He - took up his cheque-book and filled in a cheque in his fine, scrawling - hand. - </p> - <p> - He looked around. The young man was hard at work. He waited a minute, - impatient. Then he spoke, hesitating a little between the words, “Oh—John—?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” He came across. - </p> - <p> - “I thought you might like to make a present—to your friend - Tomlinson?” He was holding out the slip of paper indifferently. - </p> - <p> - The youth looked down. It was a cheque for a thousand dollars. His face - lighted with a quick smile. “It looks as if <i>you</i> were the - friend,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Tomlinson ’s no friend of mine,” said Simeon gruffly. - “But you can send it.” - </p> - <p> - “It shall go today, sir.” He was moving away. - </p> - <p> - Simeon’s hand reached out to him. “It ’s to come from - you, you understand?” - </p> - <p> - The young man paused. He shook his head slowly. “He knows we have n’t - a cent in the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Make it from the directors then—for services rendered.” - He laughed—a little bitterly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir—from the directors—for services rendered.” - John wrote the letter and sent it. But he knew that the cheque that went - with it was not recorded on the books of the “R. and Q.” Road. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he manager of the - C. B. and L. was being shown into the president’s office—not - the little room on the upper floor, but the one with the bronze token on - the door. The typewriters had been driven out for the day on some pretext - of cleaning. - </p> - <p> - As the manager entered the office, he saw a young man seated at the desk, - his round head and broad back absorbed in work. His impatient eye swept - the room—no one else! - </p> - <p> - “I—ah—I wish to see President Tetlow,” he said - sharply. - </p> - <p> - The young man at the desk rose and turned slowly, facing him. The manager - was conscious of a pair of clear, straight eyes looking into his. - </p> - <p> - “I asked down below for Tetlow,” he said a little less - brusquely. - </p> - <p> - “Is it Mr. Nixon?” said John. - </p> - <p> - “Manager of the C. B. and L.,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - The slow smile on John’s face made him welcome. “President - Tetlow asked me to see you, sir—” - </p> - <p> - “Where is he?” There was a flash of suspicion in the tone. - </p> - <p> - “He was called out of town. An old friend wrote, asking to see him - today.” - </p> - <p> - “Did n’t know Sim Tetlow had any friends—any old ones,” - said the manager. - </p> - <p> - “Will you sit down, sir?” said John. He drew forward one of - the capacious chairs and the man sank into it, giving a little nip to each - trouser leg, just above the knee, before he settled back comfortably, a - hand resting on either arm of the big chair. He glanced about the room. - “Comfortable quarters,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The young man was standing opposite him. - </p> - <p> - “President Tetlow asked me to give you any details you might wish, - sir, and to represent him as far as I can.” - </p> - <p> - The man in the big chair surveyed him for a moment. “And who might - <i>you</i> be?” he asked pleasantly. There was more than a bint of - irony in the light words. - </p> - <p> - “I am John Bennett,” said the young man. - </p> - <p> - “Um-m. I am glad to know. And do you hold—any particular - position?” - </p> - <p> - The young man was looking at him steadily. A slow smile had crept into his - eyes. “I never thought <i>what</i> I am,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The manager smiled too—in spite of himself. “You don’t - think you ’ve made a mistake in assuming that Tetlow expected you to - see me?” - </p> - <p> - John’s eyes were quiet. “No, sir. He said I was to give you - all the help I can. I know about the books—orders and correspondence - and things like that,” he added after a minute, “I can perhaps - tell you what you want to know.” - </p> - <p> - The manager was searching his memory.... What was it Harrington had - reported—a new private secretary—he might make trouble? Ah, - yes—“You have not been here long?” he said abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “Since June,” replied the young man. - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid you won’t do,” said the manager, but - with a little more respect in his voice. “The deals I want to talk - over go back two or three years.” - </p> - <p> - “I was with President Tetlow then,” said John. “I came - about four years ago. During the last year I ’ve been off for a - while.—My mother was ill.” - </p> - <p> - “Mother was ill?” He whistled softly between his teeth. It - might, after all, be good luck that Tetlow was away. This simple youth - would reveal more in half an hour than Simeon would let out in a week. - </p> - <p> - He would win his confidence. - </p> - <p> - He settled back a little in the chair. “Tetlow a hard man to work - for?” he asked casually. - </p> - <p> - John’s smile answered his, “I guess everybody thinks so,” - he said. - </p> - <p> - The man nodded. “I guess so.—They say he ’s a good deal - broken, though—works too hard?” - </p> - <p> - “He works harder than any man I ever saw,” replied John. - </p> - <p> - “Begins to tell on him, don’t it?” The man seemed to be - watching a fly on the window. - </p> - <p> - “You mean—?” John’s face expressed slow interest. - </p> - <p> - “I mean he ’s about used up,” said the manager, flashing - a look at him. - </p> - <p> - John shook his head, and the slow smile grew in his face. “You <i>think</i> - he ’s used up and then you find—he is n’t. That’s - the kind of man President Tetlow is.” - </p> - <p> - The manager gave a dry smile. “I’ve noticed that ’s the - kind he is, myself.” He turned suddenly, his eyes boring into the - young man. “What ’s all this bother about rates this year!” - he asked. “Don’t he know the roads can’t stand it?” - </p> - <p> - “He thinks the country can’t stand it,” said John. - </p> - <p> - “The country!” The man stared at him, moistening his lips a - little with his tongue. He shook his head. “Never heard of the - country before,” he said. - </p> - <p> - John smiled. “President Tetlow wants to make the ‘R. and Q.’ - a benefit to the region.” The man sat back in his chair. He spread - his legs a little. Then he opened his mouth. He laughed. There was - affectation in the laugh, perhaps, but beneath it was solid amusement and - scorn. “Sim Tetlow—philanthropist!” He shook his head,—“Look - out for him!” he said. - </p> - <p> - “You think he don’t mean it, sir!” said John. - </p> - <p> - “I think he don’t mean it,” said the big man. - </p> - <p> - John’s clear eyes looked into the small, fat ones and the man - stirred a little in his chair and sat up. “Do you believe it?” - he asked. - </p> - <p> - “I know it,” said John. “He does n’t start out on - things he can’t carry through.” - </p> - <p> - “That ’s right,” muttered the man. His face was - thoughtful. - </p> - <p> - “He’s always run the road before for the corporation. He’s - running it now for everybody.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it ’s beyond me.—<i>I</i> don’t make money - for everybody.” He seemed to be digesting it. - </p> - <p> - The young man had taken up some papers from the desk. “President - Tetlow wanted me to ask you about these,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “What are they!” The man swung his eyeglasses to his nose and - held out his hand. “They are affidavits.... about those - harvesters....” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” The manager sank back a little. He took off the glasses, - tapping the table with them. “Well!” - </p> - <p> - “He wanted me to ask what you are going to do about it,” said - John. - </p> - <p> - “What does he expect we ’ll do?” it was smooth and - non-committal. - </p> - <p> - John consulted the paper. “He expects you ’ll pay for them.” - </p> - <p> - A little look crossed the man’s face. “Oh, no. I guess not.” - </p> - <p> - “He asked me to say that otherwise he will take action.” - </p> - <p> - The man’s face fell a little. “Take it into court—He can’t - win.” - </p> - <p> - “They ’ve just won against the Lake Shore—those planting - machines.” - </p> - <p> - “That was Indiana,” said the man quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that was Indiana. But McKinnon has three or four other similar - cases, scattered about. He says they ’ve all won.” - </p> - <p> - “I told Buxton it was a fool thing to do!” muttered the man - half under his breath. - </p> - <p> - “That ’s what President Tetlow said,” remarked John - quietly. - </p> - <p> - “Um-m—Did he? What else did he say?” - </p> - <p> - John smiled a little. “He said if you were going to try to do him, - it was safer to do him inside the law.” - </p> - <p> - “Hm-m—How much is he going to stick us for?” - </p> - <p> - “Twelve thousand.” - </p> - <p> - “Can’t do it,” said the man. He sat up very straight and - folded his fingers across his stomach, guarding his rights. - </p> - <p> - “He said it would be worth that—The whole district has - suffered. The crop ’s a dead loss.” - </p> - <p> - “Why don’t he let them fight for themselves?” - </p> - <p> - “I guess he thinks he ’s more used to it than they are.” - </p> - <p> - The manager of the C. B. and L. looked at him a moment. “Tell him we - ’ll settle for ten thousand—and not a cent more.” - </p> - <p> - John made a note. “I ’ll tell him, sir.” - </p> - <p> - The man was not in good humor. The calm eyes of the young man, and a - certain sense of moral inferiority that came upon him, made him restless; - and the obvious respect that this young man felt for the President of the - “R. and Q.” was not encouraging. But it occurred to the - manager suddenly that every man has his price and he drew a little breath - of relief, relaxing in his chair. - </p> - <p> - Ten minutes later, when he took up his hat to go, he could not, for the - life of him, have told whether the young man, holding open the door for - him, was too stupid or too virtuous to take advantage of a very good offer - that had been dangled before him. But he had a distinct impression that he - should like to overhear some young man in his employ speak of him as this - young man was speaking of Simeon Tetlow. - </p> - <p> - As he went through the outer room, the manager of the C. B. and L. passed - very close to a desk where a bookkeeper was busy with columns of figures. - But the manager did not glance that way and the bookkeeper did not lift - his busy eyes from the page before him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XVIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he typewriters had - been reinstalled in the president’s office and John, in the little - upper room, was giving the president of the road a detailed account of the - preceding day—including the visit from the manager of the C. B. and - L. - </p> - <p> - “That’s good,” said Simeon. “That’s good—as - far as it goes.” But his thin face still wore an anxious look and he - sat slouched a little forward, his eyes on the floor. The morning’s - mail lay on the desk behind him, untouched. - </p> - <p> - John’s eyes turned to it. “You saw Dr. Blake?” - </p> - <p> - Simeon stirred uneasily. “Yes.” He drew a quick sigh and - turned toward the desk. “Yes—I saw him.” - </p> - <p> - He glanced at the mail, but he did not touch it. His hand seemed to have - lost volition and when John spoke again he gave no sign that he had heard. - </p> - <p> - The young man stepped to him quickly and touched his arm. - </p> - <p> - The man looked down at it vacantly. Then he lifted his hand and touched - the spot where the hand had rested. He looked up, a thin, anxious smile - quivering his face. “I can’t seem to think—” he - said. - </p> - <p> - “You ’re tired out,” said John promptly. “Did you - have any breakfast?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I had—I think I had it—” - </p> - <p> - “What was it?” - </p> - <p> - He ran his hand across his forehead. Then he looked at John. “I can’t - seem to think,” he said helplessly. “I think I ’m - sleepy.... I’m so sleepy....” - </p> - <p> - The young man helped him to the couch and stood looking down at him. The - eyelids had fallen and he seemed in a light slumber; his face still wore - its seamed and exhausted look, but the anxiety had left it He breathed - lightly like a child. - </p> - <p> - After a minute John turned away and gave himself to the work of the - office. No one came to break the quiet, and the figure on the couch did - not stir. - </p> - <p> - Late in the afternoon he sat up and rubbed his eyes, looking confusedly - about the office. “I’ve been asleep!” he said in a tone - of surprise. - </p> - <p> - “Are you rested, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “First rate.” He shook himself a little and got up from the - couch. “Mail come?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” He handed him the letters. - </p> - <p> - “I ’ve answered these.” He handed him another pile ready - for signature. - </p> - <p> - Simeon read them through with untroubled face, and signed those that were - ready. He seemed more like himself than John had seen him for weeks; but - the young man, watching him anxiously, was afraid to question him again. - </p> - <p> - When the letters were finished, Simeon turned to him with a smile. “Blake’s - an old granny!” he said. - </p> - <p> - The young man made no reply. His steady eyes were on the thin face. - </p> - <p> - Simeon nodded re-assuringly. “I ’m all right.—You - ’d ’a’ thought, to hear him talk, the funeral was - to-morrow.” He gave a short laugh. “I guess he hypnotized me - for a spell. I knew I’d be all right as soon as I got back to you.” - He smiled at the youth affectionately. - </p> - <p> - “What did he say?” asked John. - </p> - <p> - Simeon reflected. “Said I must stop—right off—Be an - idiot if I did n’t.—Idiot if I did!” he muttered - shortly. - </p> - <p> - “You <i>could</i> stop—for a while?” It was the merest - suggestion. - </p> - <p> - But the man turned fiercely—the old trembling awake in him. “You - don’t know! You <i>can’t</i> know!” He threw the words - from him. “You ’ve staved off Nixon. But there are other - things—worse things than Nixon—” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know anything much worse,” said John quietly. - </p> - <p> - Simeon stared at him a minute. Then he turned it aside with a motion of - his hand. He leaned forward, speaking low and fast—“The - directors—two weeks off—two weeks—I <i>must</i> stay, I - tell you!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” It was the old tone of quiet deference and Simeon - yielded to it. “Give me two weeks,” he said more quietly. - “Let me meet them with a straight record—and then—” - </p> - <p> - “And then?” The watching eyes held him. - </p> - <p> - “Then I ’ll go,” he said grudgingly, “—If - you make me.” - </p> - <p> - John weighed it for a minute. “Did you ask Dr. Blake about the two - weeks?” he said. - </p> - <p> - Simeon fidgeted at his desk. - </p> - <p> - “Did you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” It was a growl, half-defiant. - </p> - <p> - The silence in the room was unbroken. John began to arrange things for the - night. The man at the desk watched him, resentful, suspicious. - </p> - <p> - When the room was in order, the young man came across. He placed his hand - on Simeon’s shoulder. “All ready, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon started a little. He motioned to the chair. “Sit down.” - </p> - <p> - The young man sat down, looking at him quietly. - </p> - <p> - Simeon was holding a paper, fingering it absently; he had retained it when - John put away the others, covering it with his hand. He glanced down at it - now once or twice, as if about to speak. But when he opened his lips, it - was not about the paper. - </p> - <p> - “Blake does n’t know,” he said harshly. The young man’s - face clouded. “Don’t you trust him, sir?” - </p> - <p> - Simeon spun the paper a little contemptuously on the desk. “I trust - him—Yes—I trust Blake where he knows.” - </p> - <p> - “He knows about you, sir.” John, remembering the minute - accounts he had given of Simeon’s condition, smiled a little as he - said it. - </p> - <p> - But the eyes looking into his did not smile. They held a kind of dumb - fear, and the man shook his head. “He does n’t know—” - </p> - <p> - “Why did n’t you tell him sir?” - </p> - <p> - “I could n’t!” He glanced cautiously over his shoulder - and lowered his voice. “He would n’t have believed—nobody - ’d believe!” - </p> - <p> - “But he might help, sir.” - </p> - <p> - The man shook his head dully. “He can’t help. Nobody ’can - help.—I ’ve had my chance—” He broke off and sat - staring before him, as if at some nameless thing. - </p> - <p> - The young man watched him with perplexed eyes. Something mysterious, - terrible, held the man in its grip—some intangible thing. Almost, it - seemed to him, he conld put out his hand and touch it. Then, in a breath, - it was not there.... There was only Simeon—sitting with pitifully - bowed head, fingering the paper. - </p> - <p> - He looked up after a minute. “The Bard-well lease expires today,” - he said, holding up the paper. - </p> - <p> - John nodded. He was not thinking of the Bardwell lease. He was trying to - follow the elusive clue that had looked out at him and withdrawn.... - </p> - <p> - “The road takes possession tomorrow,” said Simeon. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” John’s mind came back to the farm. - </p> - <p> - “I ’d thought—” Simeon hesitated, “I ’d - thought we might put some one on, for the winter.” - </p> - <p> - “Rent it?” asked John. - </p> - <p> - “No—we can’t rent it till spring; Nobody would want it - now, but we could put some one on.” He waited a minute. “There - ’s your friend—Tomlinson—” - </p> - <p> - John leaned forward, his face alight—“He’d like it, sir. - He used to live on a farm—in Scotland.” - </p> - <p> - “I judged as much,” said Simeon drily. “He can have it, - rent free, till spring. Then the road will talk about terms—we shan’t - be hard on him.” He said the last words with a little gulp. He was - looking down at the paper trembling in his hands. - </p> - <p> - “He will like it,” said John heartily. “And it will be - good for the little Tomlinsons—There are two children, you know?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know anything about them,” said Simeon wearily. - “I don’t care—whether there are children—or not. - He can have the farm, if he wants it, rent free.” He looked about - for his hat. “I ’m going home,” he said. “I’m - tired.” - </p> - <p> - The freshness of his sleep had left him. He was old and haggard once more. - And John, as he handed him his hat, was struck anew by the misery in the - face. - </p> - <p> - “I am going in a minute, sir. Don’t you want me to walk along - with you?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no. I ’m all right. Stay and write your letter. You’d - better send it tonight.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XIX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E went slowly - toward the door—a bent old man. But at the door, he paused and - looked back, his lip moving tremulously. - </p> - <p> - John sprang toward him. “What is it, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t—go away—not before the fifth-two weeks. - Blake must give me that two weeks! <i>You</i> know what it means—if - I go now!” His voice was harsh and he lifted his gaunt, shaking hand - to the broad shoulder that bent toward him. “It’s ruin—John—for - the road! I <i>can’t</i> do it! It’s my <i>life!</i>” - </p> - <p> - The strong hand reached up to the quivering one and drew it down, holding - it fast. “You shall not go, sir. You shall stay here till the fifth—and - save the road.” The low, quiet tone was full of confidence. - </p> - <p> - But Simeon’s voice broke across it harshly. “Blake said he - would n’t give me a day—not twenty-four hours!” he said - hoarsely, “You should have heard him talk!” He shuddered a - little. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind, sir,” said John. “You <i>shall</i> stay—if - you want to.” - </p> - <p> - The helpless eyes devoured his face. “I can’t!” He half - whispered the words. “I’m afraid!” - </p> - <p> - “Listen, sir.” John’s face was close to his and a kind - of power seemed to pass from the clear eyes into the wavering ones. - “You shall stay if you want to.” - </p> - <p> - “If I want to?” repeated Simeon vaguely. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Listen.” He had led him back to his chair and placed him - in it. “Now I will tell you.” - </p> - <p> - Simply, as if to a child, John laid the plan before him. It was not - something new—thought of on the spur of the moment. For weeks the - youth had seen the approach of some such crisis as this and his slow mind - had been making ready for it, working out the details with careful - exactness. If the road could be tided over the semi-annual meeting, - everything was saved. In spite of the attacks of the C. B. and L. and in - spite of Simeon’s quixotic schemes for the country, there would be a - comfortable dividend to declare. And with Simeon at the head of the table—not - a wreck apparently, but the competent, keen-witted man whom the directors - knew and trusted—all would be well. After that, let rumors get - abroad—The directors would buy up any frightened stock that might be - thrown on the market. There could be no attack on the road—with - their confidence unshaken. - </p> - <p> - Simeon’s face, as he listened, lost its strained-look and his lips - seemed to move to the slow words that unfolded the plan to him. - </p> - <p> - “You could do it?” questioned John. - </p> - <p> - “I could do it,” said Simeon with a deep breath. “It - ’s easy—after what I have been through.” - </p> - <p> - “You are to do as I tell you—exactly?” - </p> - <p> - “There’s Blake,” said Simeon, the look of fear coming - back to his face. - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll see Blake,” said John promptly. “Now, you - are going home to rest, sir. I ’ll write the letter to Tomlinson and - then I ’m through.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—yes, write the letter to Tomlinson,” said Simeon. - “The sooner the better.” - </p> - <p> - And John, as he sat down to write it, had no glimpse of the clue that was - laughing at him, to his face, while his pen moved over the paper; he had - no suspicion that the farm, offered rent free, was a last desperate - attempt to lift a Scotch curse.... He saw only Tomlinson’s face—when - he should read the letter—and the children playing on the Bardwell - farm. - </p> - <p> - The physician gave his consent reluctantly. “You may be able to - carry it through, but it’s a great risk. He ought to stop now—at - once.” - </p> - <p> - “He ’s more quiet, sir,” said John, “less nervous. - He wants to sleep—falls asleep at his desk sometimes.” - </p> - <p> - Dr. Blake smiled a little grimly. “The next stage he will not be so - quiet,” he said. “Best not tempt nature too far.” - </p> - <p> - John’s face grew thoughtful. “It would kill him to do it.” - </p> - <p> - “To stop now—What ’s the difference-two weeks, or now?” - </p> - <p> - He listened as John laid the facts of the case before him. “But he’s - rich—even if the road goes to pieces. Better lose the road than his - reason—his life!” - </p> - <p> - John smiled. “I think the road is his reason—his life. He has - lived in it so long that he does n’t quite know, I think, which is - Road and which is Simeon Tetlow.” - </p> - <p> - The physician was looking with interest at this stupid, slow-speaking - young man, who seemed to put his finger so exactly on the truth. - </p> - <p> - He nodded. “Yes, I know—organic, almost But there are other - roads. He could build up another. He ’s a young man still—young - in years. Let him recover and he will be as eager to fight as ever.” - </p> - <p> - “It is n’t quite that, sir.” The slow mind groped for - prosaic words in which to clothe Simeon’s radiant dream. “He’s - not fighting just for the love of it. He thinks the country has been - injured—the road has made money out of it without paying back—and - he wants to make good. If the road goes to pieces—if the C. B. and - L. buys it up—he could never do it. I think it would kill him.” - </p> - <p> - The physician’s head was bent in thought. “So Sim Tetlow loves - men—like that—as much as that!” He looked up candidly. - “Do you know I should have said that there was nobody in the world - he would turn his hand over for. And now you tell me he’s been - killing himself for farmers.” - </p> - <p> - The young man’s face flushed a little. “I don’t think it’s - farmers, sir—nor—nor—anybody. It’s just the <i>country!</i>” - </p> - <p> - The physician looked at him a minute—“I see—it ’s - impersonal.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir. But the country is like a person to him. I think he loves - it. And I know he wants to make up for the harm he’s done it. It - would kill him to give up—now.... Two weeks will do it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well—Well. You take the risk, you understand?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” The clear eyes met his. - </p> - <p> - The physician’s looked into them with quiet scrutiny. “You - ’re very fond of him,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I love him, sir,” said the young man. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know why you should,” said the physician. - </p> - <p> - The slow smile met his. “I don’t know, either. I think he - needs me.” - </p> - <p> - “I think he does,” said the physician drily, “more than - he knows.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE morning of the - fifth of October was keen and crisp; a hint of frost lay on the grass and - the air was filled with decks of light. It was a beautiful country that - the “R. and Q.” passed through—hills and valleys, long - stretches of wood and wide sweeps of grain, and slopes where the orchards - crept to the sky, the trees gold and green, and burdened with fruit. - </p> - <p> - To the directors of the “R. and Q.,” looking out from their - comfortable parlor cars on the trees and fields as they sped toward - Bayport, it seemed a land of fatness and dividends. Tetlow would attend to - all those trees. He had never failed them since the first day he laid his - nervous, wiry hand upon the road; he had wrested the last cent from it; - and the road—trees, barns, elevators—jingled into their - pockets. They beamed upon the fertile land as they journeyed through, - noting the signs of plenty with philanthropic eye.... There had been - rumors of trouble, complaints, shortage of cars. What wonder—with - branches loaded to the ground, or propped with staves, and the grain - bending with its weight. They smiled at each other. They knew their man—a - giant—keen-sighted and far-reaching—feared through the country - up and down. When he lifted his hand, the little animals scudded to their - holes, and lesser men made way for him. If the directors did not put the - figure into words, they felt it—through all their comfortable being, - as they slid along. Simeon Tetlow—great man-prosperous “R. and - Q.”—fortunate directors! - </p> - <p> - They felt it as they took their way to the offices of the “R. and Q.” - and seated themselves in the capacious chairs about the green table. - Tetlow was a little late—they looked inquiringly toward the door. He - was not often late... sometimes hurried and driven, but never late.... Was - Simeon Tetlow late! The door opened and he came in with a little flurry, - dipping subtly to left and right, in short brusque greeting, and taking - his seat. They settled back in their chairs, scarcely noting the short, - square young man, a little to the left, who followed in his wake. - </p> - <p> - But when Simeon was seated, the young man remained standing and they took - him in with careless glance. - </p> - <p> - Their eyes returned to Tetlow. But he motioned with a slight gesture to - the young man and they looked at him again. - </p> - <p> - He stepped forward with a little smile. “President Tetlow cannot - speak,” he said. - </p> - <p> - They looked with startled eyes at the president of the road. He nodded - reassuringly and touched his throat with his hand. He opened his lips as - if to speak, but no sound came. He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - Then they understood. He had lost his voice—a cold, probably, or - unusual strain upon it. They nodded their sympathy to him, as if they, - too, were suddenly struck dumb. He smiled acknowledgment and touched his - throat and motioned to the boy. - </p> - <p> - He had stood with eyes lowered, waiting while the pantomime went on; it - was the only part that he feared. He had drilled his patient carefully. - But his breath came a little fast.... So many things might happen. ... - Then he looked up and met the directors’ gaze fixed upon him - expectantly. He consulted the paper in his hand and bent to the pile that - lay on the table before him. - </p> - <p> - “President Tetlow wishes to present first the report as a whole.” - He took up a handful of the papers. “He has had duplicate copies - made for further reference.” He passed the handful of papers to the - senior director at the right of the board. - </p> - <p> - It was a thrifty device—thought out in the night watches while he - could not sleep... Simeon had never before allowed written reports. This - was unexpected convenience. - </p> - <p> - The senior member reached out his hand with a bland smile, swinging his - gold eyeglasses to his nose and surveying the figures. He nodded affably. - </p> - <p> - The young man stood watching with slow look while the papers traveled down - the length of the table.... It was only a guess at human nature. ... Would - it work? Would they study the figures—or Simeon Tetlow’s face? - There was too much written on it for them not to see if they sat there and - looked at it. His eyes deepened as he watched them, waiting respectfully - on their convenience. The last paper reached the hand stretched out for it - and he glanced swiftly up and down the double row of faces.... every eye - buried in a paper. - </p> - <p> - He drew a quick breath and began to read in clear, even tone. There was no - sense of hurry in the voice, but the words passed in swift flow. He knew - to a minute how long it would take and how long Simeon Tetlow would keep - the cool, inscrutable smile. - </p> - <p> - He was listening, his head a little bent, to the even flow of words. John - did not dare to think ahead or see more than one minute at a time. For two - weeks his one thought had been to get through this meeting.... He had - planned, the day carefully.... It was after the periods of heavy sleep - that Simeon was most like himself and he had wakened him from a long nap - this morning, brushing his clothes and placing the papers in his hand. - </p> - <p> - “It is the fifth, sir,” he had said. - </p> - <p> - And Simeon had looked at him with a bit of the old, keen smile. - </p> - <p> - “You are to meet the directors,” said John close in his ear, - “You remember?” He looked at him anxiously. - </p> - <p> - Simeon had nodded reassuringly. “I know. <i>I ’m</i> all right—I - can <i>look</i> all right.” He had said it almost like himself. - </p> - <p> - And then John had taken him by the arm and led him to the door of the Room - and pushed him in. Only at the door had he dared release his hold. - </p> - <p> - But he need not have feared. To the president of the “B. and Q.” - Road, the green table—with those mighty, iron-bounded men around it—was - like a challenge. He had entered the room with positive eclat; and now he - sat with quiet face listening to the report, a little cynical smile edging - his lips. - </p> - <p> - It was the look the directors knew well - </p> - <p> - They trusted it as they looked up from their paper.....It was the old, - dividend look. - </p> - <p> - John’s eye dropped to it for a moment and his voice quickened a - little. He had come to a difficult part of the report. It was delicate - treading here—“Equipment for the coming year: Thirty-nine new - engines will be needed—twelve of the big Pacific type, the numbers - running from 3,517 to 3,528, and ten combination fast freight and - passenger engines of the 2,000 series. The other seventeen....” - </p> - <p> - He felt the hoard quiver subtly. They stirred in their places. He knew, - without looking up, the inquiring glances gathering on the impassive face - at the head of the table.... “The other seventeen will be switching - engines and the heaviest kind of freight engines...” The voice went - quietly on, but his hand had dropped ever so lightly on the shoulder - beside him as he turned a page of the report. The shoulder straightened - beneath the touch. - </p> - <p> - The president of the road looked up and nodded to the swift, darting - glances—once—twice, the old, keen, reassuring look—intrepid - and cool. - </p> - <p> - The directors turned the pages with easier fingers, but a new alertness - was in the air. These were details that any one could grasp—with - their implications.... “Six hundred box cars—forty passenger - coaches, each to cost $6,500.” The look of sleepy content was - banished from the board. - </p> - <p> - But the president of the road met the glances that traveled toward him, - with steady front. The figures had startled the directors, but they seemed - as music in his ears. “Thirty-nine engines—twelve of the big - Pacific type—” sang to him! He sat a little straighter, his - quick nod assenting to each detail and vouching for items that might so - easily have stirred a challenge. - </p> - <p> - The directors had no eyes for the young man taking the papers from Tetlow’s - hand, reading them one by one. He was hardly more than a Voice. They did - not note that the stubby hand as it reached out to take a paper from the - trembling one closed upon it firmly for a minute and that the hand ceased - to shake. When the next item was read, the hand lifted itself from the - table with a little gesture of pride and assent. The proposed improvements - and equipment would cost a round million,—But the road could stand a - million dollars—and more.... The lifted hand had said this - eloquently before it dropped. - </p> - <p> - The room breathed more easily, and into the voice that read the items - there crept a quiet note of relief. - </p> - <p> - Twenty minutes more. - </p> - <p> - Ten minutes—now... - </p> - <p> - Five minutes.... - </p> - <p> - The president of the road swayed a little toward the table. He might be - consulting the paper in his hand—it was the last one—before he - handed it to the sturdy young man beside him to read. - </p> - <p> - The young man leaning toward him to take it, blotted out for a moment the - thin, bent figure. When his shoulders straightened themselves again, the - president of the “R. and Q.” was erect in his chair, his - inscrutable face turned toward the directors. - </p> - <p> - The young man read rapidly from the paper. It was a summary of items. They - had the substance of it already. This only gathered it into smaller - compass for them, the quiet voice seemed to assure them, as it went - swiftly to the end. - </p> - <p> - “There is one point not included in the formal report that the - President intended to speak to you about.” He had laid down the - paper and was looking at them. - </p> - <p> - They returned the glance, finding a certain pleasure in this sturdy young - man. - </p> - <p> - Simeon looked up with a little, startled glance.... The hand touched his - arm carelessly and rested there while the voice went on speaking. - </p> - <p> - “It had been President Tetlow’s wish to ask for a leave of - absence—to take effect at your pleasure—” - </p> - <p> - The arm beneath the hand stirred and Simeon ’s mouth opened with an - inarticulate sound. - </p> - <p> - The directors glanced at him with sympathetic, humorous smile. - </p> - <p> - The senior director was on his feet proposing a motion—Three other - directors, all on their feet, were seconding it—It was carried with - a little informal hurst of enthusiasm. - </p> - <p> - Simeon rose to his feet. It was as if he thought that he could respond. - </p> - <p> - The directors were looking at him with expectant faces. - </p> - <p> - He bowed toward them and opened his lips—and broke into a long, - deep, helpless cough. - </p> - <p> - John put up his hand to the directors, smiling, and escorted him swiftly - to the door.... - </p> - <p> - There was a pleasant hurry of sound among the directors, a getting into - light overcoats and shaking of hands, a murmur of dividends, and a rush - for trains. - </p> - <p> - Up in the little office Simeon Tetlow stood by the window. He held up his - hand—groping, trembling toward the light—He looked at it, and - tried to hold it still—and still looked at it—the light - falling faintly through it.... “They trust me, John! They trust <i>me!</i> - But how dare they trust me!” The shaking hand flickered its - quivering, helpless dance against the light. - </p> - <p> - The young man drew it down, covering it with his own. “They trust - you, sir, because you’ve never failed them,” he said quietly. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he assistant - bookkeeper was finishing his accounts for the night. He made another entry - and blotted’ it before he closed the book and looked up, with a - little offhand nod. - </p> - <p> - The young man moved toward him. “President Tetlow asked me to tell - you something, Harrington.” They were alone in the room, but he - spoke in a low tone. - </p> - <p> - The bookkeeper’s shoulders squared themselves a little. He had - expected this. He had known it would come—with the directors’ - meeting. He jabbed his pen in a cup of shot and lifted his face sullenly. - “Well?” His tone, too, was low. - </p> - <p> - “They raised you five hundred at the meeting,” said John. - </p> - <p> - The bookkeeper stared at him. Then his eyes dropped. He studied his nails - for a minute. “What are you talking about?” he muttered. - </p> - <p> - “Five hundred dollars—to begin Monday,” said John. - </p> - <p> - The bookkeeper looked up under his lids, without lifting his head. “What - do you mean?” he said slowly. - </p> - <p> - John waited a minute. When he spoke, a little smile edged the words. - “I thought you’d like to know right off—So you could - write the C. B. and L. that you won’t be able to do anything for - them after today.” - </p> - <p> - “Did n’t it work?” sneered the man. - </p> - <p> - “It worked too well,” said John. “They’ve lost a - good twenty thousand these two weeks—trying to fix it—and the - twenty thousand is ours. But we don’t do business that way—not - unless we have to,” he added with slow emphasis. - </p> - <p> - The man looked up. “How are you going to keep tab on me?” he - demanded. - </p> - <p> - “Won’t the five hundred keep tab?” asked John. - </p> - <p> - The man’s smile was wintry. “The C. B. and L. did better,” - he said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—they knew what they were paying for—they thought - they knew. The ‘R. and Q.’ does n’t.” - </p> - <p> - The man stirred a little. “All right. It’s a go.” He - took up his pen and tried the nib on his thumb nail. His eyes were fixed - on it. “Cheaper to fire me,” he said, dipping the pen into the - ink. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think so?” said John. “Wait a minute, - Harrington.” - </p> - <p> - The pen paused. - </p> - <p> - “The ‘R. and Q.’ will need straight men the next six - months—men that will stand by!” - </p> - <p> - The man nodded. He was not looking np. “I have an idea, somehow—” - The young man hesitated. Then he laughed out. “I’ve watched - you, you know,” he said frankly, “I ’ve had an eye on - you.” - </p> - <p> - “Two of them,” said Harrington. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and I ’ve come to think you may be one of the best men - the road’s got.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s what <i>I’ve</i> thought,” said the man - drily. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know how you came to be in this C. B. and L. mixup,” - said John quickly, “but I think you stood by them as long as you - could—” - </p> - <p> - “That’s me,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “—and did their dirty work for them,” added John. - </p> - <p> - The man’s face clouded a little. - </p> - <p> - “The ‘R. and Q.’ wants that kind of men for clean work—” - He paused, seeking the right words. “I ’m not clever, you - know,” said John. He raised his clear eyes to the man’s face. - </p> - <p> - The face sneered a little—then it changed subtly. “I believe - you ’re speaking God’s truth,” he said soberly. - </p> - <p> - “I believe I am,” said John. “I ’m not clever—I - know it. But the road needs men that are—Men that know enough to be - rascals and won’t,” he added quietly. - </p> - <p> - The man looked at him a minute. Then he laughed—a long, full laugh. - It had a hint of fellowship in it.—“You ’re a rum un,” - he said. - </p> - <p> - John smiled. “Thank you.” He held out his hand. “It - ’sa bargain?” - </p> - <p> - The man hesitated a minute. Then he took the hand. “I should think I - could give five hundred dollars’ worth of honesty—and I - ’d like to give as much over as I can afford.” He said it - lightly. But there was a little ring to the words, and the sullen look had - vanished from his face. - </p> - <p> - “That’s all right,” said John. He nodded and was gone. - </p> - <p> - The assistant bookkeeper sat staring at the pen in his hand—“A - rascal,” he chuckled, “but not a fool rascal!—He said it - straight, did n’t he?” He chuckled again. He drew the sheet of - paper toward him. Then he looked up as if a sudden thought had struck him—“And - <i>he ’s</i> no fool either!” he said slowly. The pen began - its letter to the manager of the C. B. and L. - </p> - <p> - When the letter reached the manager, he threw it on his desk with an - exclamation of disgust. - </p> - <p> - “What’s up?” said the superintendent. - </p> - <p> - “Harrington.” - </p> - <p> - “What?” - </p> - <p> - “Backed out,” said the manager. - </p> - <p> - “More money?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think so.” He consulted the letter. “Says - he’s sick of it—the whole business.” - </p> - <p> - “Virtuous?—His virtue has n’t been of much use the last - few weeks,” suggested the superintendent. - </p> - <p> - “Nobody ’s any use,” said the manager tartly. The two - weeks’ losses had worn on his nerves.... “There ’s a man - in that office I should like to get,” added the manager after a - minute. “He’s young—sort of a boy. But I ’ve a - notion we could use him—if we knew what he ’d cost.” - </p> - <p> - The manager of the C. B. and L. meditated, off and on, the next few days, - what John would cost. He never arrived at any conclusion that quite - satisfied him. Just as he had fixed upon the bait that should tempt a - young man who had his way to make in the world—a pair of clear blue - eyes confronted him, shining mistily. There was a deep, still glow about - that boy when he spoke of Tetlow that made him feel the boy was beyond - him. - </p> - <p> - The manager of the C. B. and L. was a practical man and when, in the - process of calculation, he ran up against eyes of a young man, he swore - softly under his breath. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>ohn was turning - the question in his mind all day—where the president should spend - his vacation. But each route that he blocked out presented at some point - an insuperable obstacle, and he was forced hack to the starting point to - begin over.... The place must be far enough from the road so that Simeon - would not be reminded of its existence, yet near enough for John to return - to his mother at an hour’s notice. - </p> - <p> - He had watched her with special care in the days that preceded the - directors’ meeting.... If she should grow worse and he could not - leave her? - </p> - <p> - But His mind had come to rest hopefully in the look in her face. She would - not fail him. She was even more eager than he in planning for his absence—Caleb - would be with her, and in the city it was easier than in Bridgewater to - get help—the cooking and baking, some of it, could be bought from - the little white shop around the corner.—She entered into the plan - as if the journey were to be made for her sake rather than for Simeon’s. - And John, watching her, knew that she was really better. The change to the - new house and its surroundings had been good for her. There was even a - little pink tinge in her cheeks sometimes and she declared that the very - cracks in the ceiling of the new house were restful to look at as she lay - in bed. She had never known how full of pain and wakefulness the old - cracks were until they had been suddenly lifted from her. The new cracks - should have only hope in them, she said, with a little smile; they should - be filled with beautiful things—the light that came in at the east - window for her—she had not had an east window at home—and - Caleb’s pleasure in his new work and in his garden. Her window - overlooked the garden and she lay for hours looking out at it and at the - sky.... There was not much in the garden yet. But Caleb pottered about in - it, setting out the roots and shrubs he had brought from home, preparing - the asparagus bed and strawberry beds, and trimming up the few trees and - shrubs that bordered it. He was very contented working in the warm October - sun inside the high fence. The roots of his being stirred softly, making - ready to strike down into the new mold and rest there gently as they had - rested in the old garden at home. By spring he would hardly know the - change—any more than the daffodils and the jonquils that he had - planted in a corner by the fence with some lilies of the valley. - </p> - <p> - He had been at work in the garden the day of the directors’ meeting, - and he watched the Boy as he came slowly up the street, his head bent in - thought. Caleb gathered up his tools with little regretful, backward - looks. He had meant to set out that last row of asparagus tonight—But - it was late and the boy looked tired. He set the asparagus plants in the - little shed he had improvised for his tools and covered them carefully - against the night air. Then he went into the house. - </p> - <p> - The mother and the Boy were talking in the next room softly and he thought - he would not disturb them. He fussed about, setting the table and making - tea. Even when they were seated at table, Caleb paid little heed to what - was being said; his mind was still digging in the garden, out in the soft - mold. - </p> - <p> - Then a word caught his ear and he looked up. “What’s that you - were saying, Johnny—about a farm!” - </p> - <p> - “It ’s about President Tetlow. He has to go away, you know!” - </p> - <p> - Caleb’s interest relaxed. “I thought it was something about a - farm.” He returned to his plate. - </p> - <p> - “I said I wished there were some farm he could go to—” - </p> - <p> - “Farms enough,” said Caleb. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know a good one?” The boy and his mother both leaned - forward. They had turned the question over and over; they had not once - thought of Caleb who knew the region by heart. - </p> - <p> - He chewed slowly. “There ’s a place up Chester County way,” - he said at last, his eyes fixed on it as he chewed. “I used to work - there when I was a boy.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s too far away,” said John. - </p> - <p> - “You want to be nearby, do ye?” - </p> - <p> - “But not too near the railroad.” - </p> - <p> - Caleb’s slow mind started on its new quest. - </p> - <p> - “There ’s a place up from Bridgewater a ways—It ’s - off the road. You might hear a toot clear nights, maybe—but much as - ever—” - </p> - <p> - “Who owns it?” - </p> - <p> - Caleb shook his head. “Nice folks <i>used</i> to live there—the - Griswolds—but I heerd somewhere ’t they’d sold—” - </p> - <p> - A quick look shot into the boy’s face. “You don’t mean - the old Bardwell farm!” - </p> - <p> - “That ’s the place,” said Caleb—“I was - thinking about that little house on the creek, about half a mile, cross - lots, from the farmhouse. Anybody ’d be quiet enough there.” - </p> - <p> - “The Tomlinsons are there,” said John thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “There by the creek!” asked Caleb. - </p> - <p> - “No, in the farmhouse. I don’t suppose there’s anybody - in the little house.” - </p> - <p> - “It could be fitted up,” said his mother quickly. “That - ’s better than boarding; and you must not do the work—with all - that will come on you besides. Mrs. Tomlinson would cook for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ellen Tomlinson is a powerful good cook,” said Caleb - solemnly. “I ’ve et her victuals many a time.” - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll go down tomorrow,” said John. “We can have - the little house, I know—It belongs to the road—and I ’ll - put in a few camping things. If Ellen won’t cook for us, we ’ll - make shift somehow.” - </p> - <p> - “You must not do it,” said his mother. - </p> - <p> - “It’s good air,” said Caleb, “—High up.” - </p> - <p> - “And very still there—the top of the world,” said his - mother with a little flitting sigh. - </p> - <p> - “It’s just the place,” said John. Then he hesitated a - minute. Hugh Tomlinson’s face had suddenly flashed before him—the - red-rimmed eyes and the high, quavering voice.... Would Simeon object to - his presence? He had always refused to speak of Tomlinson and he was - gruffly silent when his name was mentioned.... But he had put him on the - farm—rent-free—and he had sent the cheque—a thousand - dollars.... John weighed the chances... and even while he hesitated, an - instinct deeper than reason told him that the old Scotchman’s - presence must be concealed from Simeon.... He might not mind. But there - must be no risk. - </p> - <p> - “Tomorrow,” he said, “I ’ll go down to see the - Tomlinsons and get the house ready.” - </p> - <p> - The old Scotchman surveyed him with keen eyes. “He wants to come - here?—Sim Tetlow wants to come <i>here</i>—to this farm!” - </p> - <p> - “Not here,” said John. “He ’ll be at the little - house—down by the creek, you know.” The switchman was silent - for a little. “A man can do what he likes wi’ his own,” - he said at last gruffly. “He owns the farm—I ’ll go—” - </p> - <p> - “I hope you won’t go,” John said quickly. “We need - some one to cook for us—good nourishing food—and I was going - to ask your wife—?” - </p> - <p> - The old man’s eyes still pierced him. “Ye think Sim Tetlow - ’ll get well on food ’t my Ellen ’d cook?—Choke - him!” he said. - </p> - <p> - John waited a minute. “I was n’t going to tell him who cooked - it—I thought he did n’t need to know.” He turned and - looked at the man beside him. “He needs all the help we can give - him, Hugh. He’s desperate.” - </p> - <p> - A slow, deep smile had come into the Scotch eyes—They glimmered to - little points and sought the distant horizon. “He must e’en - take his fate,” said the old man grimly, “wi’ the rest o’ - us.” - </p> - <p> - “But we can help him,” said John. “I feel it. <i>You</i> - can help—” - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll do naught for him,” said the man sternly. “She’s - within door, and ye can ask <i>her</i>. If she ’ll cook for Sim - Tetlow, I ’ll bide by what she says. I ’ll not lift a hand to - hinder—or help.” He moved toward the bam, walking with huge - strides, like some grim, implacable fate. - </p> - <p> - John watched him for a moment. Then he turned and knocked on the farmhouse - door. - </p> - <p> - When he lifted the latch, the little old woman by the stove looked up, - bending gentle eyes upon him. She set down the frying-pan and came - forward, The smile in her face like the October sunshine outside. “It’s - Johnny Bennett,” she said, “and I was telling Hugh, but the - morning, I’d be glad to see him.” - </p> - <p> - The young man took the outstretched hand with a sudden lifting of heart. - He forgot the gaunt figure striding from him and saw only the gentle, - wrinkled face in its prim Scotch cap, beaming with light. - </p> - <p> - In a dozen words he had laid the story before her. She listened with - intent eyes, her fingers plaiting the edge of her apron in tiny folds. - When he had finished, the apron dropped from her fingers and she smoothed - the pleats one by one. - </p> - <p> - “He’s been a hard man to us, Johnny.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “But I ’ll do it for ye.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew you would.” It came from a full heart, and she smiled - a little to him as she gave a final, smoothing touch to the apron. “He - sent us the check, and it was bitter bread we bought wi’ it. But the - bread I bake for him will be sweet,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, Ellen.” He held out his hand. “It ’s - good in you to do it, and what money can pay for—you shall have, you - know.” - </p> - <p> - “Money won’t pay for the bread I shall bake him, Johnny,” - she said slowly. “But he’s welcome to it and may the Lord - bless it—to him.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>IMEON Tetlow, in - the little house by the creek, was growing stronger. - </p> - <p> - There had been days of waiting-long, slow days, when he sat dully passive, - staring before him, or lay on the camp bed in a deep sleep. When he woke, - he took the food that John brought him and fell asleep again. - </p> - <p> - Little by little, unseen fingers had come in the silence and smoothed the - lines from the sleeping face, touching the fevered cheeks to coolness.... - He slept now like a child, breathing lightly, and when he woke, his eyes - were clear and fresh—only somewhere in the depths lurked a little - shadow that nothing could efface. - </p> - <p> - The shadow kept tally on their days. When it lightened, John’s heart - sang, and when it deepened, he set himself anew to his task. - </p> - <p> - For the first days he had not left his patient night or day—except - for brief journeys across the woodlot to the farmhouse to bring the food - that Ellen cooked. Later, when Simeon was able to walk a little and needed - less care, he had made occasional trips to the office of the road. - </p> - <p> - It was during one of these trips that a new factor had entered into the - case. The young man had been gone since early morning and the house was - very quiet, deepening in the long silence to a kind of presence. The - October sun poured in at the windows and a late fly buzzed in the light on - the pane. - </p> - <p> - Simeon glanced at it. Then he went and stood by the window looking out. - His eye traveled along the little path that lost itself in the bushes and - undergrowth at the left. It was a path that John had unwittingly worn in - his daily journeys to the farmhouse. But Simeon did not know this, he did - not even know that it was a path. He did not guess that along it a child - was trudging, bringing him health in both her fat little hands. - </p> - <p> - He went back and sat down by the fire, sighing a little. It was an open - fire that blazed and crackled, and as he watched it he dozed. - </p> - <p> - The hand on the latch startled him and he sat up—awake.... John was - early.... He turned his expectant face to the door. It swung open - silently, as if unseen hands had pushed it, and he sprang up trembling. - ... No one was there.... Then his eye dropped a little and he stood still—staring - at her. - </p> - <p> - She was very little, and she was very round and fat, and her cheeks - laughed and her curls danced, and her stout little legs, in their heavy - stockings, had a sturdy sense of achievement. She looked at him gravely. - Then she turned and placing both hands on the door pushed it shut. - </p> - <p> - He had not stirred from his place. His eyes were following her, half - doubting.... She was not more real than some of the visions that had - haunted his tired eyes.... But much more charming! - </p> - <p> - She confronted the closed door for a moment with a little air of triumph. - Then she nodded at it and turned and came toward him across the room, her - face lifted. - </p> - <p> - But still he did not speak. He had moistened his lips a little with his - tongue and his breath came quickly. - </p> - <p> - She seated herself on a packing box that served as a chair and crossed her - fat legs at the ankle. She nodded gravely. “I am Ellen,” she - said in a clear, sweet voice, “Who are you?” - </p> - <p> - He moistened his lips again, still staring. Then a humorous light crept - into his eyes. “I am—Simeon,” he said gravely. - </p> - <p> - She nodded again. “I like Cinnamon. Granny makes them—round - ones—cookies. I like ’em.” - </p> - <p> - “And who is Grannie?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “She is—Grannie,” replied the child. “Do you live - here?” Her direct eyes were on his face. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I—live—here.” He said the words slowly and a - little sadly. - </p> - <p> - “Who does your work?” she asked promptly. - </p> - <p> - He leaned toward her, very serious. “A fairy,” he said. - </p> - <p> - She slipped from the box and came toward him, her face aglow. “Where - is it?” she demanded. She stood before him very straight—courage - and health and belief in every line of the swift little body. - </p> - <p> - He half put out a hand, but she stirred a little and he withdrew it, - leaning back in his chair and gazing with half-shut eyes into the flame. - “You can’t see a fairy, you know,” he said quietly. - </p> - <p> - She had bent forward, a hand on either knee, peering intently into the - fire. She straightened herself—“Don’t you see it?” - she asked. “Not ever?” A disappointed look was in the eyes. - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. “They come at night, you know.” - </p> - <p> - The brown eyes searched his face. Then the curls wagged from side to side. - “That’s a Brownie that comes at night,” she said - reprovingly. - </p> - <p> - He looked his surprise. “Is it, indeed—a Brownie!” - </p> - <p> - She nodded. “Grannie told me.” - </p> - <p> - She came nearer and placed her little fat hand on his knee. “I like - you,” she said. - </p> - <p> - He scarcely breathed and his face, as he leaned back in the chair, was - very still. - </p> - <p> - She tipped forward and peered into it. “Are you asleep?” she - asked. It was almost a whisper—solicitous, but firm. - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. The tired eyes opened and looked at her, full of a kind - of sweet light. “I am—resting,” he said. - </p> - <p> - She nestled a little nearer to him, carelessly, and looked into the fire. - Presently she hummed to herself....a little crooning song—half - words, half happiness: Then she left him and wandered about the room, - touching things with grave, respectful touches, but with liveliest - curiosity in the peering brown eyes. When she had finished, she went - toward the door. “I am going, now,” she announced. - </p> - <p> - He dared not put out a finger to stay her and his eyes did not lift - themselves from the flames. “Come again,” he said carelessly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she replied. It was a very grave little word—full - of assurance and comradeship. - </p> - <p> - Then she opened the door and went out. - </p> - <p> - The fire flared in the sudden gust and he looked around. The door—too - heavy for her to close—swung wide to the October sun, and down the - path the sturdy brown figure was trudging, holding intent on its way. - </p> - <p> - Simeon moved to the door and stood looking after it. The sun shone - clear.... Everywhere the serene, level light and in the midst of it, - moving steadily on, a quaint, sturdy figure.... He put up his hand - impatiently, brushing aside something that hindered his gaze. When he - withdrew the hand, he looked down at it and thrust it out of sight, - perplexed and savage and stirred.... “God bless me!” he said, - “I’m growing soft!” - </p> - <p> - He closed the door and went back to the seat by the fire, wondering a - little that he should care. - </p> - <p> - “She will not come,” he said as he looked into the deep coals. - But in his heart he knew. She came again and again—sometimes every - day and sometimes with long intervals between. When this occurred, Simeon - would grow restless and go often to the window to look where the path - emerged from the undergrowth. It never seemed to occur to him to follow - the path. - </p> - <p> - He had showed, from the first, a curious indifference to his surroundings. - They had not come by the way of Bridgewater, but had left the train at a - small station farther up the road and driven across country eight or ten - miles, by night, to the Bardwell farm and the little house on the creek. - To Simeon, in the long empty days that followed his arrival, the place had - no existence. He hardly knew more than that he ate and slept and that John - was always at hand—to turn his pillow or speak to him or replace the - light coverlet when it slipped off. - </p> - <p> - And as strength came to him and they walked every day a little distance - from the house, his indifference to the outer world persisted. He asked no - questions. His mind followed no roads. Sometimes on misty nights, when the - long, slow whistle sounded across the low hills, John would watch him - curiously. But the head was not lifted from the brooding hand by the fire. - The road had slipped out of memory, perhaps—or grown dim in the - visions that haunted his gaze. If he knew where John went, on the days - when he was absent, he made no reference to it. - </p> - <p> - Only when the child came, his mind reached out. It reached out to a little - path that lost itself in the underbrush and rustling oak leaves. He would - stand for hours, looking at it wistfully when she did not come. But he - never set foot in the path. It was hers and she came and went as she - pleased. - </p> - <p> - With a kind of canny Scotch wisdom, the child had refrained from speaking - at home of her visits. She may have been uneasily afraid that they would - be forbidden if discovered, and she concealed them carefully, not only - from her grandparents, but from her little brother who was her only - companion. It was not always easy to evade him and, then, there were days - when she did not come. But she guarded Simeon’s secret jealously, as - if he were some helpless thing she had come upon unawares in her trudgings - up and down the farm. And from the day she first strayed into the - half-defined path that John’s feet had worn between the house and - the farm, she did not cease to haunt it. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HAT are you doing?” - She was standing on tiptoe, her eyes barely over the edge of the table, - watching Simeon’s pencil as it moved over the paper. - </p> - <p> - The pencil continued its curious tracks. Simeon’s eyes were fixed on - it intently. There was no reply. - </p> - <p> - She watched it a few minutes in silence. She and Simeon were good friends. - They did not mind the silence, but he would answer—if he heard—“What - are you doing?” It was very quiet—but firm—in the clear, - high voice. - </p> - <p> - He looked down. Then he smiled into the level eyes. “I’m - drawing a map,” he said. - </p> - <p> - She found a chair and pushed it to the table. She climbed into it and - knelt with her fat arms folded in front of her on the table, bending - toward the paper. - </p> - <p> - Simeon paid no heed to her. The pencil went its absent-minded way. - </p> - <p> - It was no unusual thing for them to be silent a long while, with an - occasional smile or nod between them, she intent on grave matters, Simeon - following hazy, wavering thoughts. - </p> - <p> - But he had never chosen to make pictures. This was something important and - different. She leaned closer, her shoulder touching his. “Is that a - pig?” she asked politely. Her finger indicated a shape in one - corner. - </p> - <p> - “That is a mountain,” said Simeon. He sketched in a tree or - two to verify it. - </p> - <p> - “It ’s a funny mountain,” she said. She drew in her - breath a little, watching the pencil respectfully. - </p> - <p> - “It is full of beautiful things,” said Simeon. - </p> - <p> - She bent closer to examine it. “Can you see them?” She lifted - serious eyes to his. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I see them—very plain. There is iron and copper and lead—” - his pencil touched the paper, here and there, in little dots, “and - silver.” - </p> - <p> - “And gold—” said the child in a soft, monotonous voice. - They were playing a game. - </p> - <p> - “Not much gold, I’m afraid,” said Simeon, shaking his - head, “but it is a wonderful mountain full of beautiful things—that - can’t get out.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Why</i> can’t they get out?” she demanded as if some - foolish mystery lay behind his talk. - </p> - <p> - He hesitated a moment. “A bad man keeps them there,” he said. - “He has the key.” - </p> - <p> - “Won’t he <i>let</i> ’em out?” It was a shrewd - little wondering, groping question toward the truth, but it was full of - sing-song happiness. - </p> - <p> - She nestled closer while the pencil went its way, drawing two long lines - that stretched side by side across the paper. They readied the mountain - and stopped. - </p> - <p> - “What is that?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “That is a railroad that the bad man will build,” he said, - putting in some extra lines. - </p> - <p> - They watched the pencil in silence. - </p> - <p> - “I know a bad man,” she said idly, as if it were not - important, but worth mentioning since it concerned Ellen. - </p> - <p> - “Do you?” The surprise in the tone was partly real. “Do - <i>you</i> know a bad man?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—I know one.” It was a modest little drawl—an - assertion of wisdom tinged with importance. “He’s a <i>very</i> - bad man,” she added. - </p> - <p> - “No?” - </p> - <p> - The half-teasing note did not touch her. “He kills folks—He - killed my father,” she said tersely. The words were light on her - tongue, but she nodded to him with deep serious eyes that his could not - fathom. Something in the eyes hurt him—a kind of trust and ignorance - and deep appeal. He put his arm protectingly about the little form, - drawing it close. - </p> - <p> - “You must not say things like that, Ellen.” - </p> - <p> - “Gran’ther says it.” - </p> - <p> - “But <i>you</i> must not.... You will not say it again—?” - It was half a command. “Don’t ever say it again, Ellen.” - </p> - <p> - “No—o—” It was reassuring and polite-half drawled; - and it dismissed the subject idly—They had dwelt on it too long. - </p> - <p> - “Where is the key?” She was dipping toward the paper, peering - close. - </p> - <p> - “The key?” He stared a little—“Oh—yes—This - is the key.” His pencil touched the parallel lines. - </p> - <p> - “That ’s a railroad,” she said promptly. - </p> - <p> - He smiled. “It is the key, too—See—” He drew more - lines rapidly, “When this touches the mountain, the iron and silver - will come pouring out and it will run down this track—here, and here—” - The pencil moved fast. - </p> - <p> - She followed it with grave eyes. She drew a deep breath and leaned closer - to him. She lifted her face with a smile. It had caught the glow in his—but - she did not speak. - </p> - <p> - He fell to sketching again and she nestled in his arm. By-and-by she put - out a short finger. “Does folks live there—or Brownies!” - she said, half whispering the words. - </p> - <p> - He looked up absently—“Where—Oh—on the mountain?—People - live there—I suppose—” - </p> - <p> - “You ever seen them?” - </p> - <p> - “No,”—still absently. - </p> - <p> - She sighed a little. “I like folks,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “What?” He paused in his thought and looked at her with a - smile—tolerant and old—“You like folks, do you?” - The look teased her. - </p> - <p> - She nodded gravely. “They ’ll be glad—” Her finger - was tapping at the mountain—“They ’ll <i>like</i> to - have the beautiful things come <i>pouring out</i>—” She spread - her hands with a little gesture of beneficent plenty. - </p> - <p> - He stared at her a minute—then he laughed. “I suppose they - will.... I had n’t thought of it.” His eyes dwelt on her - fondly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes.—They ’ll like it.—They ’re nice folks.” - </p> - <p> - “How do <i>you</i> know?—You seen them?” They often - played like this. - </p> - <p> - “I know.” She nodded wisely. “There’s fahvers and - muwers and little uns—bairns-like me.” She was looking at - something far away—Then her eyes flashed back to his. “They - ’ll like it,” she said swiftly, “They ’ll help—They - ’ll bring out the beautiful things—great handfuls!” She - threw them out with her lavish little hands. - </p> - <p> - He caught them both in one of his. But he was not looking at her. He was - seeing something far off... something the child’s words made him - see.... He looked at it so long that one of the hands freed itself and - reached up to the intent face, stroking it.... Then he looked down and saw - her. He smiled at her—with deep eyes... with the little shadow - playing in them—far back.... “So you love folks?” he - said slowly. - </p> - <p> - “We must e’en love everybody,” she repeated as if it - were a lesson. - </p> - <p> - “Everybody?” He looked at her, a little startled at the words. - </p> - <p> - The clear eyes lifted themselves—“Gran-’ther says we - must do justice to all men,” she said gravely. “But Grannie - says we must forgi’e ’em—she says we must e’en <i>love</i> - ’em.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you must love him—the bad man.” He said the words - half teasingly, half gravely. - </p> - <p> - Her face clouded. But the eyes were untroubled. “I don’t fink - <i>anybody</i> loves <i>him</i>,” she said simply, “But - Grannie says we e’en must.” She gave a little sigh. - </p> - <p> - “So you will!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—I love him.” - </p> - <p> - The voice was full of her ignorance—a kind of sing-song chant, but - somehow it gripped him strangely.... As if he heard in some inner world—faint, - ringing little bells of joy and sadness and the mystery of life. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e sat in front of - the fire brooding absently. He had been alone all day—ever since - John left in the early morning. The boy was coming back tonight. He had - said that he would come—but that Simeon must not wait for him; he - must go to bed as usual. It was late now, but Simeon in front of the fire - waited impatiently.... A strange loneliness was on him. Outside the snow - had been falling fitfully all day. The ground was covered with still - whiteness. Across the waste of snow he heard a distant clock strike softly - and far away—eight—nine—ten—and still he waited, - brooding there by the fire. He wanted to see some one—to touch a - friendly hand—before he fell into the deep sleep that would cut him - off. A strange yearning toward his fellowmen had come upon him in the last - days. The child’s words followed him wistfully—“We must - e’en love ’em,” he whispered to himself, wondering at - the strange tugging at his heart—Tiny cords seemed to reach out from - him, threading their way, spreading wide-seeking men and women. - </p> - <p> - He rose and paced the little room. He was not the man who had entered it - ten weeks ago—broken, helpless in weakness. His step on the floor - was firm and the hand that reached out to the tongs was steady in its - grip. He readjusted a log in the fireplace and replaced the tongs. Then he - stood looking down at the fire. He had grown fond of the flames—leaping - there. He would miss them when he went back to his office—and the - cold town house. He glanced about the little room affectionately. - </p> - <p> - ... The boy had filled it with love and thoughtfulness from the first day. - It was sweet now with pine and spruce and hemlock—fastened - everywhere—running along the walls and heaped in corners. The boy - had brought it in from the woods for Christmas Day. The scent of it was - like the woods themselves—Something mysterious and deep was in the - room. The woods were in the room. The man breathed deep and looked around - him.... How he would miss it all.... But his work was waiting... and he - was ready. He stretched out an arm straight from the shoulder and looked - with quiet pride at the hand. It did not quiver, by a breath, from its - place. The arm dropped at his side.... He was ready... almost. The shadow - flickered across his face. It retreated to his eyes and crouched ... - waiting. He sat down before the andirons and looked defiantly into the hot - coals.... Some senseless, half-crazed words mumbled at him.... He shrugged - his shoulder.... He would not hear them. The firm hand had clinched itself - on his knee.... A face grew out of the fire, red-eyed and old and - imbecile. It swung before his gaze full of hatred and leering malice, and - the clinched hand lifted itself. ... The face was fading, line by line, in - the flickering light. The mumbled words grew faint. They sank to a - whisper... and died away. ... It was the voice of the child—clear - and low, “We must e’en forgi’e ’em.” - </p> - <p> - He sank hack, wiping the heads from his forehead. He stared before him—seeking - a way out.... He had offered the man money.... He had given him the farm, - free of rent—and it was a good farm, they said—the Bardwell - farm—Was it not enough?... He brooded on it, sitting there. The - loneliness outside crept into the room.... The snow had ceased to fall, - and through the uncurtained window he caught a glimpse of light shining. - He got up and went to the window and looked out. The white clouds seemed - to be being drawn across the sky by unseen hands; beyond them the stars - shone clear. The snowy landscape glowed faint beneath them.... Suddenly he - uttered an exclamation and turned away. He crossed quickly to the door and - threw it open and stood peering out. - </p> - <p> - A little figure was coming up the path, nodding and blowing—Her - curls were afloat and her little face glowed in the light from the door. - </p> - <p> - “I ’m coming,” she panted heavily, “I ’ve - got here.” - </p> - <p> - “I should think you had.” His voice was stern. But he had - gathered her in his arms, holding her close. She struggled a little and he - set her down. “I ’m wet,” she announced—“I’m - most wet fru, I guess.” - </p> - <p> - He found some old underclothing of John’s and took off the wet - things, holding them up, one by one, to the light and looking at her - reproachfully. She had come apparently in her nightdress, with the - addition of an extra shirt, one stocking, one legging, a pair of overshoes - and her little fur coat and cap. - </p> - <p> - “I could n’t find my Fings,” she explained, “not - all of my fings—in the dark.” - </p> - <p> - “What did you come for?” asked Simeon severely. - </p> - <p> - Her rosy happiness precluded sentiment—and kindness. - </p> - <p> - She glanced at the glowing fire and then at his face. She looked down at - her pink toes, peeping from below John’s drawers—The drawers - wrinkled grotesquely on the fat legs and she tried to hold them up a - little as she approached him, humbly.... Simeon was angry—She could - see it from the tail of her eye, as she drew nearer with downcast head. - “I wanted to see Santa Claus,” she said. She had come very - close now and she put out a fat hand, resting it on his knee. - </p> - <p> - He bent a little toward her. “You should have waited till tomorrow, - child. Don’t you know I shall have to take you back—” - </p> - <p> - She lifted a stricken face. - </p> - <p> - “—in the cold and snow,” went on Simeon unheeding. - </p> - <p> - Her lip quivered. With a bound she had buried her face in his breast.—“Don’t - take me, Cinnamon!” she wailed—“Please don’t take - me—back!” - </p> - <p> - “But your grandfather and grandmother will worry—” - </p> - <p> - She lifted a reassuring, streaming face, “They don’t <i>know</i> - about me,” she sobbed, “I am sound asleep.” She snuffed - a little and fumbled in the capacious folds of John’s undershirt for - a handkerchief. - </p> - <p> - Simeon produced his and she accepted it meekly. She wiped her cheeks with - it and stowed it away. “I peeked—” she said, “in - the door and they was asleep—both of ’em—and Gran’ther - was a-snorin’—” - </p> - <p> - “Suppose they wake up,” said Simeon. - </p> - <p> - She looked at him piteously. “Santa Claus can’t come to our - house,” she said. Her lip trembled. - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” - </p> - <p> - “He can’t get in.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh.” - </p> - <p> - “They ’ve shut up the chimbley.” She moved a fat hand - toward the fireplace—“I cried about it,” she explained, - “and then I went to sleep—I prayed too, but that did n’t - do any good,” she threw in. “And then I waked up in the dark - and ’membered you, and that’s how I come.” She nestled - to him. - </p> - <p> - His arms were close around her. “You shall stay till the clock - strikes twelve—that’s when he comes—” - </p> - <p> - She nodded sagely. - </p> - <p> - “And then I ’ll carry you home.” - </p> - <p> - She sank back with a little sigh of content. The pink toes cuddled - themselves in the warm folds and the moist eyes rested dreamily on the - coals. - </p> - <p> - Simeon, holding her in his arms, had a sense of life—its goodness - and fullness. The loneliness had fled from the little room. It was filled - with love, and the world outside was full of friendliness—It held - them close. - </p> - <p> - The child stirred a little. “We did n’t hung up my stocking,” - she said drowsily. - </p> - <p> - Simeon looked down at the stocking steaming with faint warmth from the - fire. “It ’s too wet,” he said. - </p> - <p> - She roused herself and sat up—“Don’t I have no - stockings?” she demanded. - </p> - <p> - He hesitated. Then he got up and brought one of his own and suspended it - from the corner of the shelf. - </p> - <p> - She surveyed it with dubious content. A little question flitted, and she - raised an anxious, startled face. “He might fink it was yours,” - she said. - </p> - <p> - “We ’ll tell him,” said Simeon, “the minute he - comes.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>I ’ll</i> tell him.” The eyes had flashed wide. They - shone dizzily—the little hands clasped themselves—“<i>I - ’ll</i> tell him,” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “All right.” - </p> - <p> - She sat very straight, her gaze fixed on the exact spot where he should - come.... Her shoulders drooped a little, but she caught them at it and - shook them sternly. Then the eyes blinked—once—twice, and the - brown curls nodded. The watching figure was sinking inch by inch into the - great folds that enwrapped it. She lifted a heavy, dreamy face to Simeon’s—“I - can’t keep—awake—Cinnamon,” she breathed—very - wistful—with little jerks between. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind, dear.” He laid a hand on the bending head. - “Go to sleep. I ’ll wake you when he comes.” - </p> - <p> - With a deep sigh, the head sank against the strong shoulder. The firelight - played across the little figure in its clumsy garments; it touched the - sleeping face and tipped the nodding curls. - </p> - <p> - Simeon watched it, the world in his heart speaking low. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>’ ve lighted - the lantern for ye, Hugh.” The rays of the lantern shone on the - meek, wrinkled face, bringing out faint lines and lighting up the - yellow-white hair that framed it. The hair was a little rough from the - pillow. She had not thought to smooth it since—wakened by some inner - voice—she had risen to see that all was well with the bairns. - </p> - <p> - “She ’s been long gone,” she said, looking up to him as - he drew on his great mittens and reached for the lantern. “The - pillow was cold.” The face beneath the wrinkled lines tried hard to - hold itself steady. - </p> - <p> - “You ’re not to worrit, Ellen. I ’ll find her. I ’ll - bring her back.” He had thrown open the door and the cold air rushed - in. - </p> - <p> - She shrank a little from it, staring at the dark. “She ’ll be - fey,” she said, “wi’ the cold and wet and dark. I must - have the kettle hot.” She turned toward the stove. - </p> - <p> - He stooped to examine the snow in the light from the door. Then he lifted - himself, a look of satisfaction in the grim face. “Shut the door, - Ellen,” he called, “I ’ll follow ’em now in the - dark.” - </p> - <p> - She came quavering. “Can ye see, Hugh!” She strained her eyes - toward him. - </p> - <p> - “Shut the door,” he said. “I can follow—wi’ - this.” He lifted the lantern a little and she saw the old face, - stern and hopeful. - </p> - <p> - She shut the door and watched through the window as the great figure - lunged away. The lantern swayed from side to side with the huge strides, - as if a drunken man carried it across the wastes. But the lantern went - straight. It was making for the oak wood. - </p> - <p> - The sky overhead was sown thick with stars, flung like a royal canopy - above the earth. The shepherds keeping watch over their flocks would have - needed no other light to guide them, and Hugh Tomlinson, stooping to the - little fat tracks that spudded through the snow, had little need of the - lantern that swung from his great hand. The tracks led straight across the - country without swerving to left or right. They crossed the wood and came - into the open.... He followed them fiercely, like a great dog, unheeding - whither they might lead. Suddenly, with a muffled cry, he stopped.... - </p> - <p> - Straight before him ran the creek and out from the bank stretched a frail - band of ice. Beyond—the water swirled black and sluggish. He hurried - to the brink and stood staring—not a sound to break the silence. He - strained his eyes across the thin edge of ice. Surely it could not have - borne the weight of a tiny child. He wheeled about and looked up to the - stars. They twinkled in their places—remote and glad. There was no - help in them. Slowly his eyes dropped.... He started—shading them, - as if from a vision, peering forward. There in the window of the little - house, gleamed a light. - </p> - <p> - He strode forward blindly, his eyes fixed on it. As he drew near, he sank - to his knees, creeping almost on all fours; but at the window he clutched - the sill and raised himself.... Within the green-trimmed room with its - glinting light and soft glow sat the man and the child—asleep before - the fire. The child’s head rested against the man’s breast and - his face drooped till his cheek touched the modeling curls. - </p> - <p> - For a moment Hugh Tomlinson eyed the sweet scene—like some gaunt - wolf at the window. Then he strode to the door and throwing it open - entered without knocking. - </p> - <p> - The man at the fire looked up with startled glance. He had been dreaming, - and it might have been an apparition of his dream that loomed in, out of - the night. - </p> - <p> - The two men regarded each other. - </p> - <p> - The gaunt one stepped forward a pace. “Gi’e her to me,” - he said. “She belongs to me.” - </p> - <p> - “And I thought she was mine,” said Simeon. A sad little smile - played about his lips. He moved toward the man, holding out his hand. - “Forgive me, Tomlinson,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The Scotchman did not touch the outstretched hand. He looked down at it - dourly. “Gi’e her to me,” he repeated. - </p> - <p> - Then, as they stood confronting each other, the bells rang.... They - sounded faint across the snowy waste, striking the hour. The last stroke - died upon the air, and silence settled in the little room—with - greenness and the scent of firs. - </p> - <p> - “Peace on earth, good-will toward men,” said Simeon in a low - voice. “Make it peace for me, Hugh Tomlinson.” - </p> - <p> - “Gi’e her to me,” said Tomlinson again. - </p> - <p> - The man made no reply, but the child reached up a sleepy hand and slipped - it about his neck. “I love Cinnamon,” she said drowsily. - </p> - <p> - Then the Scotchman came nearer. The bony hand did not lift itself from his - side and there was no softening of the grim face—“The Lord do - unto ye as ye have done unto me and mine, Simeon Tetlow,” he said - solemnly. - </p> - <p> - He reached out his arms for the child and the man surrendered her to them—gently, - that the sleeping lids might not wake. The old Scotchman gathered her in, - close—the folds of his great-coat wrapped protectingly about her. - Then, his eyes bent hungrily upon her, without a backward look, he went - out into the night. - </p> - <p> - Simeon Tetlow watched him go, with quiet smile. His hands had dropped to - his sides. - </p> - <p> - Thoughts played across the thin face—gleams of light and humor and - gentleness. He lifted his head, with a quick glance about the fragrant - room. The fire had died down, but a soft light glowed everywhere. He sat - down holding out his hands to the warmth, the quiet smile still resting on - his face and the shadow in the eyes fading before it, flickering away to - its place in the night. The eyes shone with swift, new light; it played - upon the face as it bent to the coals—the intent, human eyes gazing - at something there.... Slowly the vision lifted itself—shining rails - gleamed upon the night. They lay upon the land, the silvery tracings - branching left and right. A white light shone from them. Simeon Tetlow, - looking with rapt gaze, saw a new world. The curse could not touch him - here.... It could never touch him again. Something cold and hard had - snapped at a word. The forgiveness he had begged of the stern Scotchman - had come to him... . There had been no curse... only the hardness and - bitterness in his heart—that would not say “Forgive.” - The word had lingered at the door of his lips through weeks of pain and - the darkness—wandering rebellion, sick fancies.... “Forgive - me, Hugh.” He had said it—low and humble, unawares, out of the - depths... and suddenly he had stood erect. “Forgive me, Hugh.” - He whispered it again, looking into the deep coals. ... Troops of faces - filed before him and he stretched out dumb hands to them. The coals - deepened and spread, and the great road lay among them. His eyes rested on - it wistfully. A still, clear light was on the country-side.... Miles of - wheat and corn, great tracks of prairie, mountains of ore—lighted by - it. But his eye swept them as a bird sweeps river and wood and plain in - its homing flight.... The light was falling on the faces of men and women - and children and the faces were turned to <i>him</i>—waiting. The - coals had died to a tiny spark. He rose and put on fresh wood and the - flames leaped and ran up the green walls. He fell to musing again.... The - dream held him.... Life opened.... Softly the bells were ringing in that - other world.... Little peals that broke and rang—great swinging - bells. He bent his head to the sound. It grew, and died away to lightest - touch and rang again, clear and fresh.... It was nearer now... nearer—He - turned his head. The sound had stopped—at the very door—The - boy had come! - </p> - <p> - Before he could rise from his place, the door swung open to the freshness - of the night and the boy was at his side.... “Merry Christmas, sir.” - He bent swiftly to the lifted, smiling face—“You are better,” - he cried, bending nearer in the flickering light, doubting and eager. - </p> - <p> - “I am <i>well</i>, John!” He was on his feet, both hands - outstretched to the boy. - </p> - <p> - They stood thus, the fire leaping on their faces, their hands clasped. ... - Then they drew apart smiling.... The man moved his hand toward the dusky, - fragrant room. “I am ready to go,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The young face lighted. “We need you, sir. We need you the worst - way!” - </p> - <p> - “At the office?” Simeon motioned to a chair. “Sit down—Tell - me.” - </p> - <p> - The young man shook his head. “Not tonight.” He looked at his - watch. “It is after one. You must sleep.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall sleep,” said Simeon contentedly. “And tomorrow - we will talk it over,” said John. - </p> - <p> - “Tomorrow we will go,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he old Scotchman, - striding through the snow, was holding the child fiercely to him. She had - not stirred since he folded the great coat about her and he felt the - warmth nestling there close to his heart. But the heart beat hot and - resentful. Under his breath he swore and muttered as he stumbled through - the wood, straying from the path and finding it again with gaunt step. The - lantern gripped in his tense hand would have lighted the faint track - through the snow. But he did not look down. His eyes were on a light that - glimmered and shifted among the trees, shining across the long fields of - snow beyond.... Ellen was waiting, her heart sore for the bairn. He - clasped the little form closer and strode on-bitterness in his heart.... - “Curse him—!” He had robbed them of work and their good - name and now he would take the child ... luring her from them through the - dark and cold, making her love him. The great arms strained her close as - he stumbled on, coming with each uncertain step nearer to the glimmering - light till it fell full in his face from the uncurtained window and he - flung open the door and strode in. - </p> - <p> - She looked up with quick glance. Then a little cry broke from her—“Ye - did na’ find her!” - </p> - <p> - He opened the great-coat where she lay like a flower, and the grandmother - came close bending to the soft vision. Her hand touched the limp one that - hung down, its soft, pink palm upturned. - </p> - <p> - “The little hand!” she whispered like a slow caress, “It - ’s warm, Hugh!” She lifted her eyes to his face. - </p> - <p> - “Aye—warm.” There was no light in the stern face. - “Ye best put her in bed.” He held her out—a little from - him—and the child stirred. Her sleepy eyes opened and smiled to them - and closed slowly. The little smile faded to a dream and the lips groped - with words and breathed a name softly—“Cin-na-mon—” - </p> - <p> - The grandmother gave a startled glance. “She is fey!” she - said. - </p> - <p> - “‘Cinnamon!—’ what does she mean—‘Cinnamon’?” - </p> - <p> - The old man looked resentful and said nothing. - </p> - <p> - The sleepy lips shaped themselves again—“Gran-nie.” It - slipped into a little sigh of content as she nestled into the arms that - reached out to her. - </p> - <p> - The old woman smoothed the tumbled hair and rocked her shoulders gently to - the cradling of her arms. “Where was she, Hugh?—Where did ye - find her!” - </p> - <p> - “Where she ’d no right to he,” he said grimly. - </p> - <p> - “She’d no right but to be in her bed,” said the - grandmother softly. - </p> - <p> - “Ye ’d best put her there,” he responded, looking down - at the sleeping flower-face with unfathomable eyes. - </p> - <p> - When she came back she found him sitting by the stove, his gaze fixed - gloomily on its black surface, his body bent forward and his great hands - swung loosely before him. - </p> - <p> - She stirred the fire a little and pushed back the kettle on the stove. - “We ’re no needing it, the night,” she said with happy - face. - </p> - <p> - But there was no happiness in the old face across the stove. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, Hugh?” She was looking at him with keen, gentle - eyes that searched his soul. - </p> - <p> - “Sim Tetlow,” he said briefly. - </p> - <p> - Her hand dropped from the kettle—“Ye ’ve seen him, the - night!” - </p> - <p> - “He had the bairn,” said Hugh. “He was holding it—in - his arms—like his own.” He looked up to her—bitter - hatred in the red-rimmed eyes. - </p> - <p> - But she came close to him, her soft dress making no sound. “He cared - for the bairn!” It was half a question—a little cry of - disbelief and longing—“He cared for the bairn!” - </p> - <p> - “He were holding her,” said Hugh gruffly—“Same as - you—or me.” He lifted his hand with a swift gesture—“Curse—” - </p> - <p> - She caught the hand, holding it to her bosom, forcing it there—“No—Hugh—no,” - she breathed the words with little gasps—“Ye ’ll no - curse—we maun—” - </p> - <p> - He turned on her savagely, struggling for a minute to free his hand. Then - his eyes dropped. “Ye ’re a woman,” he said grimly. - “Ye ’ve no call to know.” - </p> - <p> - She stroked the hand with thin, knotted fingers, but her lips made no - reply. - </p> - <p> - He looked up under fierce brows. “I ’ll do to him as he - ’s done to me.” He said the words with deep accent. - </p> - <p> - “No,—no”— - </p> - <p> - He swept aside the words—“He took away my engine,” he - said with slow wrath— - </p> - <p> - “But ye slept, Hugh—And ye could not help the sleeping!” - It was a little cry of defence. - </p> - <p> - “I’d been waking, the night and the day—and the night - again,” he replied fiercely, “and I <i>slept</i>—Is - sleepin’ a crime!—She was safe on the sidin’,” he - added. “There was no harm to Her—” - </p> - <p> - She waited with bent head. So many times they had lived through the steps - of his disgrace— - </p> - <p> - “An’ then he gi’e me the switch. He were kind an’ - just. He gi’e me the <i>switch</i> to tend—” Impotent - bitterness filled the words—“we—that’d drove the - best engines on the road! Tendin’ a switch—in the freight yard—” - His head sunk a little. - </p> - <p> - “Ye was old, Hugh.” It was the little cry again. - </p> - <p> - “An’ he will be old!” he broke in with tense, swift - gesture—“Old before his time, bent and broke! Oh, Lord—” - He lifted his gaunt face, “Gi’e him to me! Gi’e him into - <i>my</i> hand!” The keen eyes, fixed on something unseen, stared - before him. Hope struggled in them—a bitter, disbelieving hope. - “Gi’e him into my hand!”—he whispered.... “into - my hand!” He bent forward, staring at the vision. Then the face - changed subtly. He drew a quick, deep breath.... His head had dropped to - his breast. - </p> - <p> - She bent above him, “Hugh—” She called it to the - unseeing eyes—“Hugh!” - </p> - <p> - He drew back a little dazed. The look in the face broke—“Why, - Ellen—woman.” He put his arm almost tenderly about her—“What - frighted ye?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Ye ’ll not harm him?” she cried. She leaned against - him, her anxious, questioning eyes searching his face. - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll not harm him,” said the man briefly, “except - the Lord deliver him into my hand—I have it for a sign.” - </p> - <p> - Her Scotch blood thrilled to the vague menace of the words. She pressed - closer to him, her thin hands raised to his coat, grasping it on either - side. She looked up into his face—“Hugh, ye must forgi’e—ye - must e’en—” - </p> - <p> - “I must e’en do the Lord’s will,” he said sternly. - He loosed the clinging hands—“Ye must sleep, Ellen,” he - said more gently. - </p> - <p> - Her hands had dropped. They hung loose at her sides. But her meek eyes - were still on his face. “Ye will forgi’e him,” she - whispered low, under her breath. - </p> - <p> - But his face gave no sign that he heard. He put out the lantern and raked - together the coals in the stove, covering them carefully with ashes to - save the smouldering heat. “Come to bed, Ellen,” he said when - it was done, “the bairn is safe. Ye can sleep now.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXVIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ho is managing?” - said Simeon. - </p> - <p> - They had finished breakfast and sat with chairs pushed back from the - table. It was the first question he had asked about the road. He had - devoted himself to the business of getting well as thoroughly as to any - business he had ever undertaken. But he was well now. “Who is - managing!’ he said quietly. - </p> - <p> - The young man looked at him with a frank smile. “Nobody is managing,” - he said—“That ’s the worst of it. I ’ve been <i>doing</i> - things—things that <i>had</i> to be done—and trying to stave - off other people’s managing.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon nodded quickly. “That ’s the best thing could have - happened. I hope you ’ve done it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, not altogether—The men in the office were all right.... - But the directors fidgeted some—” - </p> - <p> - “Corbin,” said Simeon, “I know.” - </p> - <p> - The young man nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I know,” said Simeon testily. “And Dickerman, I - suppose—yes, yes, I know—Go ahead now—Tell me - everything.” He leaned forward with elbows on the table—the - old alert look in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - When the recital was finished, he stood up, stretching his arms with a - gesture of content. “It might be worse,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “You may find it worse than you think,” said the young man, - “No head to anything.” - </p> - <p> - “Just legs and arms,” said Simeon. He laid his hand in passing - on the boy’s shoulder. “I’d rather have legs and arms—good - ones—than any heads I know of—except my own,” he added - laughing. “When do we go?” - </p> - <p> - “I brought down the special last night. She’s at Bridgewater.” - </p> - <p> - “Stetson with her! That ’s good. We start tonight—Get - there at ten—Sleep home—Ready for business.” - </p> - <p> - John smiled at the old, quick orders and went out to set them in motion. - He looked up to the clear, keen sky with a sudden lightness of heart. A - new day had come. Perhaps the tortoise had something the same feeling when - Atlas stooped his shoulder to the world. - </p> - <p> - By night, the little house was stripped of its belongings. Some of them - were packed in bags and boxes and the rest were to be stored in the loft - overhead. The boughs of spruce and hemlock and pine had been taken down - from the walls and burned in the fireplace during the day. The room was - filled with the sweet, pungent odor. - </p> - <p> - At the last minute John had hurried to the woods and brought back an - armful of fresh boughs—spruce and pine, hemlock and blue-berried - cedar—clustered thick—and trailing green vines. He tossed them - lightly into the back of the sleigh and sprang in. - </p> - <p> - The special was waiting on the siding. They saw the little, flying puffs - rise from her and float on the clear air.... Stetson was ready—with - steam up—They would be off at once. - </p> - <p> - The baggage master came forward to help with the bags. He spoke a word in - John’s ear as he passed him. - </p> - <p> - The young man glanced quickly toward the engine that puffed and chugged at - the head of the little train. He helped Simeon into the car and hurried - forward. The man standing by the engine looked at him with troubled eyes. - </p> - <p> - “He’s sick,” he said slowly, as John came up. “He - was took bad just after he came down.” He nodded toward the baggage - room, “He told me to fire Up—ready to go ahead. Said you’d - know what to do.” - </p> - <p> - The young man turned toward the baggage room. The engineer, out of a heap - of blankets, spread across some trunks, regarded him somberly. “I - can’t do it,” he said, “I don’t dare. It gripes - too hard when it comes. It’s easier now, for a minute—But it - ’ll come back.” He writhed a little as he spoke. - </p> - <p> - “You must n’t stay here,” said John quickly. He looked - about him. - </p> - <p> - The man put out a hand. “I’m going,” he said, “as - soon as she starts. I waited for you.” John nodded. “Is there - anyone—on the others?” He motioned toward the yard. - </p> - <p> - The man shook his head gloomily—“Freights,” he said. A - kind of subtle pride underran the words—“I would n’t - trust ’em with Her.” - </p> - <p> - The young man lifted his head—A swift thought had crossed his face. - “I saw Tomlinson on the street as we drove in—Could he-?” - </p> - <p> - The man stared at him—“Old Tomlinson?” Justice weighed - in the tone. “You can ask him,” he said grudgingly at last. - </p> - <p> - “He ’s all right for it?” questioned John. - </p> - <p> - The man writhed a little in his place. But justice held—“He’s - all right if he says so,” he answered. His teeth bit at the under - lip, holding it firm, and he breathed hard. “He’s first-class—Tomlinson. - He won’t <i>say</i> he can take her unless he’s able. You can - trust Tomlinson—same as you would me.” The pride of - brotherhood breathed in the words—lifting them mightily. - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll see him,” said John. - </p> - <p> - The hand held him back. “Don’t urge him.” He gasped a - little for breath between the words. “If he says he can do it—let - him take Her.” - </p> - <p> - “I understand,” said John. “I ’ll send some one - for you.” He was gone from the room. - </p> - <p> - As he passed the car, he hesitated a minute. Then he sprang up the step - and went in. “All ready!” said Simeon looking up. - </p> - <p> - “Stetson ’s sick—Shall we wait over?” - </p> - <p> - “Wait over? No! Get somebody—Get <i>anybody!</i>” He - threw out the words. - </p> - <p> - The young man hesitated a minute. He had not mentioned Tomlinson’s - name to Simeon. Something had always pulled him back when he had thought - to do it. “There’s a man—” he said slowly—“lives - here—He ’s not running now—” - </p> - <p> - “Competent?” said Simeon. - </p> - <p> - “Stetson says so.” - </p> - <p> - “Get him.” - </p> - <p> - Tomlinson, one foot on the sleigh, looked at him under keen, shaggy brows. - He glanced toward the station, with its wreathing, drifting lines of - smoke. He shook his head. “I’m going home,” he said. He - threw the halter into the sleigh and knocked the snow from his boots - against the side. - </p> - <p> - John watched him silently, as he climbed in and gathered up the reins in - big,-mittened hands. - </p> - <p> - “We need you, Hugh,” he said slowly. - </p> - <p> - The old man nodded—impassive. “Can’t go,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Why not!” - </p> - <p> - “<i>She ’ll</i> be waiting.” He pulled a little on the - reins. - </p> - <p> - “Send some one home with the team—There’s Russell! Get - him.” - </p> - <p> - The Scotchman glanced with indifferent eye at a man crossing the street. - “I ’ve got my chores to do.” He pulled again on the - reins. - </p> - <p> - The old horse lifted his head. - </p> - <p> - John laid a hand on the sleigh. “See here, Hugh. We need you—There’s - no one else—He told me to get you.” - </p> - <p> - The pull on the reins was checked. “<i>Who</i> told you!” - </p> - <p> - “President Tetlow. He ’s waiting—” He motioned - toward the track where the special was blowing off steam. Hugh’s eye - followed the motion. It dropped to the young man. “He told you—Sim - Tetlow—” he demanded, “He wants <i>me</i>!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. He wants you—But not if you ’re not up to it—” - He had remembered Stetson’s words. - </p> - <p> - The old man leaned forward, winding the reins slowly around the whip. - “I ’ll take Her,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “You ’re not afraid!” said John. Something in the face - disturbed him. - </p> - <p> - “I ’ll take Her,” said Hugh briefly. - </p> - <p> - “Stetson’s jumpers are in the cab,” said John as they - came down the platform. - </p> - <p> - “Too short,” said the old man. He was striding with mighty - step. - </p> - <p> - John glanced at him. “That ’s so—The coat’s all - right.” - </p> - <p> - “Like enough,” said Hugh absently. His face had an absorbed - look—The eyes beneath the fur cap gleamed like little points of - light. When they reached the engine, the light broke and ran over his - face. He mounted to the cab and laid his hand on the lever—“I - ’ll take her down, Johnny—Don’t you worry.” He - nodded to the young man standing below. - </p> - <p> - The face cleared. “All right, Hugh—It’s the President of - the Road you ’re carrying, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “Aye—It ’s Sim Tetlow—I know,” said Hugh. He - opened the lever a little. - </p> - <p> - The young man hurried toward the car. - </p> - <p> - “All right!” asked Simeon as he came in. The train was in slow - motion. - </p> - <p> - “All right,” said John. - </p> - <p> - Supper was brought in and they ate it leisurely, watching the light change - and fade upon the hills and darkness settle down outside. Simeon’s - eyes came back to the young man’s face. “I mean to know this - country,” he said, “every mile of it.” - </p> - <p> - The young man smiled a little. “Don’t you know it now!” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know anything,” said Simeon. “I was born - last night.—I was born last night,” he said looking at the - black window in a reverie. “Who lives along here?” He nodded - toward the darkness. “What kind of people!” - </p> - <p> - John peered out. “Winchendon, we just passed, was n’t it? I - don’t know. I’ve never been here.” - </p> - <p> - “Ever lived outside of Bridgewater!” said Simeon. - </p> - <p> - “No, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me about that.” - </p> - <p> - “About—!” The lifted eyebrows held it. - </p> - <p> - Simeon nodded. “About anything. Steel works—button shop—everything.” - </p> - <p> - John thought a minute—“You know as much as I do—more. - They do a big business.” - </p> - <p> - “What kind of men?” asked Simeon brusquely. - </p> - <p> - “Men?—In the works—you mean?” - </p> - <p> - “In them—over them—on top—outside, inside,” - said Simeon. “You know ’em, don’t you? Lived with - ’em—been to school with ’em—?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh—if you mean that—!” A smile had come into the - puzzled face. - </p> - <p> - “I mean that,” said Simeon. He had lighted a cigar and was - watching the tip intently. - </p> - <p> - The cigar went out and was relighted many times before the story of - Bridgewater was finished. The slow mind of the narrator wandered in and - out through the past, nudged by keen, quick questions from the nervous - listener beside him. Little things loomed large—big things faded and - slipped away in John’s vision. It had been a mighty day for - Bridgewater when the county house was built; but Simeon scoffed at the - court-house and listened with rapt face to the story of two truckmen that - John knew who had quarreled over their stand and made up, and joined - against a third and held up the transportation of Bridgewater for three - days. - </p> - <p> - Simeon sighed a little. “I ’ve never lived,” he said - slowly. “I’ve made money—I’ve sat with my face - close to a board, making money, studying moves—I’ve played a - good game—” He said it grimly—“But I ’ve - never lived yet. My father always said ‘Go in to win,’ and - there was n’t any mother.” He said the words between the - puffs.... “And then I married—” He waited a minute—“Yes—I - guess I lived—a year. But I did n’t know-then.” - </p> - <p> - There was silence in the car. The train sped through soft, even darkness. - The engine shrieked at a solitary grade crossing and was past. - </p> - <p> - The man lifted his head. There was a deep smile in his eyes.... “It - ’s all going to be different,” he said slowly, “Just - wait till we get things in hand—I ’m going over the road.”... - He drew a map from his pocket and spread it on the table.... “Here - is a place I want to know.” He pointed to a corner of the map, - “They ’re always making a fuss up there—saying the road’s - got to come their way. The division superintendent says it won’t pay—They - say it will. I ’m going up.” - </p> - <p> - John leaned forward—“Chester County.” He spelled the - name across the map. “My father knows Chester County.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon looked up with quick stare... “Your father?” - </p> - <p> - “He lived there when he was a boy.” - </p> - <p> - “I must know him,” said Simeon. “I ’ll take him - with me.” - </p> - <p> - John smiled at the picture—but underneath the smile ran a swift - sense of his father’s presence—its slow, steadying power upon - the nervous, hurrying man. He would rest in the stolid strength of it. - “I ’ll bring him to see you,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—What is your mother like?—You have not told me - about your mother.” He gazed at the boy deeply. - </p> - <p> - “There’s no one like her,” said John. “I could n’t - tell you. Nobody could tell about Mother.” His glance had traveled - to the rack overhead where the fragrant boughs hung out, filling the air - with light fragrance—He saw the light in her face and her hands held - out to them—He smiled. - </p> - <p> - Simeon sighed and moved restlessly. He held another match to the cigar and - his eye, as it followed the steady hand, filled with quick pride. - </p> - <p> - John was watching the hand, too, and the eyes of the two men met. - </p> - <p> - “I ’m all right,” said Simeon, throwing away the match - with a little laugh. - </p> - <p> - “You ’re all right,” said John with deeper meaning. - </p> - <p> - “And I ’m a young man.” He rose and paced a few steps in - the car—“I ’m forty-three—You don’t call - that old?” - </p> - <p> - The eyes watching him smiled. - </p> - <p> - “That is not old,” said Simeon. He stretched himself to his - full height, rapping his chest softly. He threw out his arm—toward - the night. “I’m just beginning,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The brakeman passed through the car-carrying something on his arm. A piece - of old cloth, a bit of signal flag, was thrown carelessly across it. - </p> - <p> - John’s eye followed him to the rear of the car. After a minute he - got up and went to the door. He opened it and stepped onto the platform. - The brakeman was bending over the end of the car, peering down at - something. He tested it once or twice with his hand before he scrambled to - his feet. “It ’s the red,” he said as he saw who stood - beside him. “It don’t burn right—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—What’s up?” The train was swirling through - the dark and they held to the guard-rail as they faced each other. - </p> - <p> - In his cab, at the other end of the train, the old Scotchman, his body - braced to the swing of the wheels, leaned out, looking back with tense - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Can ye see her, Jim?” - </p> - <p> - The fireman leaned beside him, for a moment, piercing the dark with swift, - keen glance, “Nothing there,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The train, on the down grade by the river, ran with swift ease through the - night.... No sight—no sound.... Only the great river to the left - slipping—dark and still, and the stars overhead. - </p> - <p> - But the two men leaned back, scenting the dark with swift gaze. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing there,” said the fireman, peering out, “You - must ’a’—” - </p> - <p> - He paused—with quick turn. - </p> - <p> - A long, low whistle broke the night, echoing against the distant hills. - </p> - <p> - The eyes of the two men met. Tomlinson’s hand raised itself with - startled thrust. The answering shriek tore the night.... Once—twice—in - hoarse demand.... - </p> - <p> - Again the low, seeking call among the hills. Then silence and the black - river slipping by. - </p> - <p> - The fireman sprang to his place. - </p> - <p> - Tomlinson’s hand upon the lever quickened its hold, drawing it - tense. “We take no chances,” he said. The engine trembled - beneath and leaped to swifter stride. It swayed through the night. The - furnace door flew open and heaven blazed with roar and glow and swift - heat. The faces of the two men, lurid in the white glare, confronted each - other. Then darkness, and the swift rush of steel on steel—crunching, - heavy beats of sound—and the thrusting roar and smoke.... They were - swinging the bend of the curve now, where the road leaves the river under - the mountain to track across country. Tomlinson, his body half thrown from - the cab, strained back, his peering eyes searching the distant curve. He - drew his hand across them. - </p> - <p> - “She ’s there, Jim!.... Look!” The shaking hand flung - the words. - </p> - <p> - The fireman leaped to his side. A glimmer—a flash—twinkled - gleams on the far curve. - </p> - <p> - “It ’s Her!” muttered Tomlinson. - </p> - <p> - “86,” said the fireman. - </p> - <p> - “The heaviest on the road.” Tomlinson’s hand reached - Up.... - </p> - <p> - She was running at frightful speed. His quick eye gaged her flight as he - sounded the high, shrill call of warning.... She had not slowed for the - curve.... She was not slowing now! Again the whistle sounded its savage - cry. - </p> - <p> - And the note came back—echoing among the hills in little peals that - laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Ah—she had heard.... she knew they were there... They were - safe now.” The hand on the lever released its grip.... Gleason was - running her. He was safe—Ten miles more.... Simeon Tetlow, swaying - at ease in his parlor car, need not fear.... They were picked men on the - road—and he ran them hard. They would bring him through.... - </p> - <p> - Once more Tomlinson leaned out, looking back with a grim smile.... His - startled gaze threw itself—She was <i>not</i> slowing—“Jim!” - It was hoarse like a whisper—“Jim!—Look!” - </p> - <p> - But the fireman, bending to his flaming pot, had not heard. - </p> - <p> - The red eyes blazed again to the night.... “Jim!—” The - hoarse cry shook the night. - </p> - <p> - The man sprang forward. - </p> - <p> - “Look!” He flung a hand. - </p> - <p> - The man leaned out. “God!” he said—He strained his - eyes.... “The brakes don’t grip,” he cried fiercely.... - “She’s running wild!” The words drove with the flying - wind. He drew back, lifting a white face. “Down grade,” he - whispered. - </p> - <p> - “Aye—down grade,” said Tomlinson, quietly. “Pile - on the coal, Jim!” He flung the throttle wide. A great light broke - across his face. “Pile on the coal, Jim!” The engine sprang.—“Stuff - her,” he cried. - </p> - <p> - Again the flare and roar to the night—Great flying sparks.... Glory - and fierce heat and the mighty power that throbbed to leap its bounds.... - Winged thrust—horns and hoofs, and spilling flame.... - </p> - <p> - The old engineer, his hand on the lever, balanced himself to the plunging - flight. His small, peering eyes held the track ahead—they laid down - the road before the wheels. And somewhere—far within—his soul - laughed.... In the hollow of his hand he held him—The man who had - scorned him—thrust him out.... “You shall never touch throttle - or brake or switch on this road.” The wheels ground out the words. - They beat them to powder and flung them—with hitter laugh and roar—upon - the night.... He would not trust! And now he lay, like a baby, swung to - the sound of wheels. Tomlinson laughed and set his teeth and leaned - forward, squaring his shoulders.... His feet gripped the bounding floor. - He would carry him safe.... They need not fear Tomlinson... . - </p> - <p> - Back in the car, Simeon Tetlow, absorbed in his map, looked up absently - ... his glance on the swaying lamps—“They ’re taking us - down pretty fast,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The young man nodded. He was sitting across the table, his head Testing on - his hand, his eyes, with their quiet light, fixed on Simeon’s face. - He had not stirred since he came in from the platform ten minutes ago. - </p> - <p> - Simeon, working on his map, looked up now and then with a little smile, - and the quiet eyes smiled back. But something hungry had crept into them—a - look of protection and longing—as if they would shield something - helpless. - </p> - <p> - The train, in its heavy swing, lurched a little and Simeon looked up with - a scowl that was half a laugh. The pencil had scrawled a curious, zigzag - course across the paper. “I don’t seem to be running this - road,” he said, “I might as well give up.” He pushed the - map from him and looked at his watch—“9:40—Where are ye?” - </p> - <p> - “Just past Dunlop’s crossing,” said John..... At - nine-forty, 86 was due at the crossing—the time-table in his pocket - told it to him—five minutes off. Someone had blundered and she was - in their block—close behind them—pressing upon them.... But - the dull face gave no sign. - </p> - <p> - “Twenty minutes,” said Simeon. He stretched his arms with a - little yawn—“We ’ll be in by ten—you think!” - </p> - <p> - “I think we shall be in before ten,” said the boy. His voice - was very quiet, but the man looked up and saw the light in the eyes. - </p> - <p> - He leaned forward. “What is it, John?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing, sir—” He said the words slowly. “I was - only wishing I could do something for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Boy—” He turned his head a little, listening—The - shrill whistle had sounded—“What’s that!” - </p> - <p> - “Some train at Dunlop’s” said John. - </p> - <p> - The train beneath them seemed gathering itself in mighty leaps. - </p> - <p> - In the cab, the old engineer, with tense body and set teeth, laughed - grimly—“I ’ll bring him in—<i>I ’ll bring - him in!</i>” - </p> - <p> - The miles leaped behind them, flying. And behind them the express pounded - heavily—soulless—massive—blind... five miles now—three—And - the Scotchman laughed with the great lurches of his cab— - </p> - <p> - The lights of the upper station flashed past... then the lights of the - yard... he threw the lever swiftly into place. The roar slackened and fell - and ceased. The special was gliding easily down to her berth in the - terminal shed. - </p> - <p> - The express, under control now, halted at the upper station, her blind eye - glimmering through the dusk toward the little train that ran—smooth—safe, - on its way. She gave a shrill cry—and puffed—impatient to be - off. - </p> - <p> - Simeon put away the map in his pocket. He looked out into the busy yard as - they drew in—little lights... slow-pulling freights—busy - engines puffing up and down—smoke and grime. His own work. His heart - leaped to it as he stepped from the car, and he lifted up his face to the - great train shed—as in some great cathedral one looks up—and - waits.... Whirling, drifting smoke—soaring and shimmering into the - high roof.... Bells and voices and the sound of murmured calls... crimson - torches flaring—skimming along the platforms—diving under - engines—with hungry, peering eyes.... He took it in for a moment - with deep, full breath before they swung down the platform. - </p> - <p> - Beside the engine an old man was bending with flaring torch, thrusting it - into the heart of her, searching with careful eye for any harm that had - come. - </p> - <p> - “Oh—Tomlinson!” said John. - </p> - <p> - The figure straightened itself and wheeled about, torch in hand.... His - glance fell on the President of the Road and he stepped forward, a solemn - look in the keen, blue eyes. He reached out a gaunt hand. The face, - beneath its grime, held a deep, quiet power—“I forgi’e - ye, Simeon Tetlow,” he said slowly. “I forgi’e ye,—now.” - </p> - <p> - The President of the Road took the grimy hand in his, with firm grip. - “It ’s all right, Tomlinson, all right.” - </p> - <p> - He stood for a moment looking up at the tall figure, covered with oil and - dirt—the smoke-stained face full of a kind of dignity.... “You - brought us down fast, Tomlinson,” said the President of the Road - with a little smile. - </p> - <p> - “Aye, I brought ye fast,” said Tomlinson. But there was no - smile in the words. - </p> - <p> - He was gazing over their heads at something beyond them. - </p> - <p> - The express had come to rest in the next berth and the great engine loomed - above them—breathing softly—full of pride and strength. - </p> - <p> - The three men looked at her for a minute, as if a magnet held them. Then - the crowd, pouring out of the express, bore down upon them and swept them - along. Tomlinson climbed back to his place in the cab, watching the two - men until they were lost to sight in the jostling, hurrying throng. The - express was a long one and the crowd streamed past... pushing, laughing... - voices called... cramped limbs stretched themselves after the long ride - and hurried a little; the platform resounded to light steps. - </p> - <p> - The engineer of the express leaned from his window, on folded arms, - looking down. He was a quiet man with thoughtful eyes and a serious - face.... The eyes raised themselves and looked across at Tomlinson—above - the heads of the happy, hurrying crowd—a straight, slow glance. Then - he lifted his hand to him—the sign of the brotherhood—as one - who salutes an equal. - </p> - <p> - And Tomlinson lifted his hand in return. - </p> - <p> - Simeon emerged from the wicket gate, looking about with happy glance. The - popcorn boy, scurrying to his place, the lights flaring and blazing, - cabmen shouting—it was beautiful-all of it. He fell into the old, - brisk walk and John, hurrying beside him, could hardly keep pace with - it... . Joy was everywhere tonight—sound and bustle and quick-moving - crowd. The nervous, hurrying frame vibrated to the city as a child to its - mother’s touch, or the heart to music.... He was back among his own—exile - was done.... They pressed upon him—past him—around him. He - jostled elbows, and was glad. He could have stretched out his hands to - them—every one. The grasp of the old Scotchman’s fingers - lingered with him still—It crept np his arm in tiny thrills and - warmed his heart. He must do something better for Tomlinson. There was - strength in the old man still—with a grip like that! He rubbed his - hand and shook his fingers a little ruefully at the very thought of it. - How the old fellow had loomed—there on the platform—tall and - grim! Then—in a flash—he saw him... in the green room, his - head lifted high, his face stem... the very scent of the room was in the - vision, pungent and fresh. - </p> - <p> - He drew a quick breath and threw back his head with a little impatient - gesture. “I shall never get out of those woods,” he said. - “I can smell them—yet! lean smell them here.”... - </p> - <p> - The boy glanced at him with swift twinkle. “Look behind you, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Simeon flashed back a quick look. Behind them was the porter, laden with - bags and mgs. and bundles, and on his great shoulders the green branches - swayed and nodded as he moved. They framed the big face with its gleaming - smile—like some grotesque, dark-skinned dryad in the smoky station. - </p> - <p> - Simeon’s eye sought the boy’s—a little anxiously, it - seemed, “Going to trim the office?” he said. - </p> - <p> - He laughed back. “I ’m carrying them home to her.” - </p> - <p> - He called a carriage, and the porter stowed away the boxes and bags and - mgs, piling the mass of pine and spruce on the seat in front of them till - the carriage was filled with its subtle fragrance. - </p> - <p> - Simeon leaned forward in the half light and plucked a little spray of the - cedar, placing it in his coat. “That is for me,” he said, - smiling a little, as he buttoned the coat over it, “the rest is for - her.” - </p> - <p> - The great office building loomed at the right as they drove, and he - glanced out quickly. “Same old place!” he said. His face wore - a contented look and his hand reached out, in the dim light, to the stubby - one resting on the boy’s knee and closed upon it for a moment with - firm grasp.... “Tomorrow, Boy,” he said, “we begin - again.” - </p> - <p> - “Tomorrow, sir,” replied the boy. - </p> - <p> - He entered the house lightly, but not so lightly that her sensitive ear - did not catch the sound and hold itself attent to listen—“John?” - Her voice searched the darkness. “John?—Is it you?” - </p> - <p> - He came in swiftly—“Bad mother!” He dropped on his knees - beside her and laid his cool cheek to hers.... “Bad mother—to - lie awake!” Her hand reached up to stroke his face.... “How - fragrant you are—like the woods!” - </p> - <p> - The fingers strayed a little and touched the feathery sprays and lingered—questioning. - “It is the woods! You have brought me the woods!” The little - cry of joy trembled in her voice. “I shall sleep now.” - </p> - <p> - He bent and kissed her. “Good-night, mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-night, my son..” - </p> - <p> - In the dusky, fragrant room she fell asleep, like a child, and she dreamed - that she was-a child and wandered in a wood and that an angel with shining - eyes came to her and walked with her under the green branches and when he - went away she cried to him and he turned and kissed her and said— - </p> - <p> - “I have brought your breakfast, mother.” So she wakened to - another day. - </p> - <h3> - END. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Simeon Tetlow’s Shadow, by Jennette Lee - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIMEON TETLOW’S SHADOW *** - -***** This file should be named 51982-h.htm or 51982-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/8/51982/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. 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