THE STORY OF LEO
It was evening. The afterglow of sunset still shed its golden radiance
upon a blackened world, striving vainly to burnish with its gentle
luster the depressing aspect of charred fields. The cool August
breezes, usually so fresh and sweet at sundown, were tainted, scarcely
unpleasantly, with the reek of dead fire.
Two figures, apparently absorbed in themselves, were pacing slowly the
broad trail which fronted Deep Willows. They were talking, talking
earnestly of those things which concerned their lives, while their
anxious hearts were waiting with almost sickening dread, for the moment
when a summons should reach them, that they might learn the verdict of
hope or disaster which Providence had in store for them.
They knew, these two, these boy and girl lovers, that the life of the
one they had learned to love so dearly was hovering in the balance.
They knew that the great surgeon, who had journeyed so far, and under
such strenuous conditions, was waging the human side of a great battle.
Was he once more to be victorious over Death, or would that ruthless
specter at last defy him? The man was accounted infallible by a
thankful world. He had come to the rescue fully prepared for a great
fight. He had brought not only his own dresser, but also his own
anesthetist, while two competent nurses and another medical man were on
the premises. So these two hoped, while their hearts were yet plunged
in a perfect maelstrom of fears.
They were striving with all their might to pass the hours of waiting.
Professor Hinkling had been with his patient from the moment of his
arrival soon after noon. He was still with her now, when the great
August sun had set amid its glory of fiery cloud.
Phyllis halted in her walk. Quite abruptly she raised a pair of
earnest, admiring eyes to her lover's face. In their depths lay all
that which can raise a man to a perfect paradise of joy and hope. Never
had her woman's attraction been more evident to young Frank than at
that moment. Never in his life had he realized more fully than at this
moment all he had so recently striven to crush out of his life and deny
himself for ever.
"Say, Frank, dear," she cried ardently. "The more I think, why, the
more I just love to feel you--you are _my_ Frank, and it was you, and
you only, could have brought Professor Hinkling through here. Say, you
must have been well-nigh crazy with the worry--and--and anxiety. Oh, if
you'd only known how we, Mr. Hendrie and I, felt standing right here
to-day waiting--waiting with scarcely a reason to hope you'd make Deep
Willows in time. D'you know, Mr. Hendrie was well-nigh clean
crazed--sure?" She shuddered. "I never saw a crazy man before, but he
was crazy then. I watched him. I was scared--scared to death."
Frank looked out over at the great house. Suddenly he breathed a deep
sigh.
"I'm glad, Phyl," he said presently. "I'm glad--I got here in time. I'm
glad, not only for poor Mon, but for--him." He looked down into the
girl's eyes, and a half smile crept into his own: "It's all so queer,"
he went on. "I--I ought to hate that man. Yes, I ought. And I just feel
like a sort of soft worm for not doing so. That's a fact, Phyl. I don't
hate him. I--I like him. Do you know I seem to have seen into him,
right deep down into his heart, and it's--a queer place. But I've seen
something there that appeals to me. It appeals to me so big that
I--simply can't hate him. It's his big manhood. He's full to the brim
of something that I've never understood before. Something I'm just
beginning to understand. And, d'you know, I don't believe there's
nearly so much of it going around as folks pretend to believe. Do you
know, Phyl, I believe if that man were dying to-morrow he'd just get
right hold of Death, and--and he'd try to choke the life out of him
before he'd give in."
Phyllis nodded her head wisely.
"You're right, dear," she cried impulsively. "Can you wonder he's where
he is? Can you wonder he's right on top of the things other folks are
shouting for, but haven't the strength, or grit to--to just grab hold
of for themselves? You're feeling just like I do about him. Guess he's
so big in spirit as well as body. That's why he's on top. It's--it's
always the way."
"Yes," Frank admitted, "that's how you've always said--and I
think--now--you're right. I didn't always think so--but I do now."
Phyllis turned away. She was gazing across at the house, and a deep
look of enthusiasm and hope was shining in her eyes.
"Do you know, Frank," she said, after a pause. "I sort of feel our Mon
will win out--now. No, I'm not just thinking of Professor Hinkling. I'm
thinking of Mr. Hendrie. I sort of feel he's got to win out
in--everything. His whole mind and heart's on Monica's recovery,
and--and I believe they're too big and strong for Fate to break him.
Oh, I'm foolish, I know. I'm talking like a crazy girl, but I just
can't help it. I believe he's too strong even--for Fate."
Frank, too, was gazing across at the house. A curious look had crept
into his eyes. They were stern, stern and cold, and his jaws had shut
tight.
Phyllis, glancing up at him, wondered. It was the first time in her
life she had seen such a look in her lover's eyes. Never, even in those
dark days when he had first left prison, had she seen such a look in
him. And yet it was quite familiar. It was a look she knew quite well.
She started, and an irresistible impulse stirred her.
"Frank! Oh, Frank!" she cried. "If you could only see yourself. Tell
me, dear. What are you thinking?"
"Thinking?"
The look had passed. The man's eyes were now gently smiling down into
the girl's eager face.
"I was thinking of you, Phyl," he said tenderly. "I was thinking of you
in Mon's place, and of myself in Hendrie's. I was thinking of what I
should do. Of how I should feel. I was thinking that I, too, should
want to take Fate in my two hands and compel it to do my will."
His face was flushing with boyish shame at the apparent boastfulness of
his words, but he had spoken the truth.
But Phyllis saw nothing of the braggart in his words.
"I knew it, I knew it," she cried, her eyes shining with love and
admiration. "Your face was the face of Alexander Hendrie just now. I
have seen that look in his, not once, but a hundred times, and--then it
was in yours. Oh, Frank, I am so glad, so--so glad you felt like that.
I long to think and feel that now the old miserable past is over and
done with, that you, too, will take life in your two strong hands,
and--and fight out the big battle the Almighty has set for men. I want
no man who must have others to fight for him; I want no man who will
cry out weakly at every blow in the face; I want no man who will yield
beneath the flail of Fate. I want the man of big courage, the man of
fight. He must have the muscles of a giant, and the heart of a lion.
That man I will set up on my little altar, and so long as I live I will
go down on my knees and thank God for His goodness in giving him to me."
Frank had no words in which to answer. A great passion was sweeping
through his veins and held him silent. Of a sudden his arms reached out
and caught the girl's slim body in their powerful embrace, and,
regardless that they were in full view of the house, he crushed her to
his bosom, and kissed her passionately.
But Phyllis was more mindful of those things, and swiftly released
herself with a little cry.
"Frank!" she protested. "Frank!"
But Frank remained smilingly unrepentant.
"I don't care," he cried. "I don't care if the whole----"
He broke off with a scared look in the midst of his smile. Phyllis was
pointing across at the house. The glass entrance doors had just swung
to, and a man-servant was rapidly coming toward them.
"It's--it's about--Monica!" Phyllis exclaimed, in a sudden panic.
*****
The man addressed himself to Frank.
"Mr. Hendrie would like to see you at once, sir. He's in the library
now--waiting."
Frank looked into the man's inscrutable face in anxious inquiry.
"Is there--has there been any word of--Mrs. Hendrie--yet?" he
questioned sharply.
The man's sigh was in perfect order with his training.
"I think not--yet, sir."
Frank sighed, too. His relief was lest the news should have been bad.
His eyes sought Phyllis's.
Then he turned again to the man.
"You said--at once?"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Hendrie was emphatic on the point."
Phyllis looked up into her lover's face.
"You best hurry, Frank."
"Yes."
Frank hurried away, leaving the man to return to the house at his
leisure.
*****
Daylight was rapidly dying. Already the remoter corners of the library
were lost in growing shadows. Outside the rosy sunset had chilled to a
pale yellow, above which a faint twinkle of stars was already visible.
Hendrie was sitting astride a chair. Its back was turned, and his
folded arms were resting upon it. His great, square chin was thrust
forward supported upon them.
His eyes were gloomy, and coldly brooding as they surveyed the other
two occupants of the room. Austin Leyburn was seated with his back to
the window, and his face was lost in the shadow. A few yards away from
his charge sat Angus Moraine. His watchful eyes, full of a hatred he
made no attempt to conceal, were steadily fixed upon the other's
shadowed features.
A painful, straining silence reigned in the room. There was nothing
more to be said between these three until the arrival of the man whom
Hendrie had dispatched a servant in search of.
Presently the door opened. Hendrie half turned his head. Leyburn's eyes
lifted in the direction. Only Angus remained indifferent to the
arrival. He knew that his reign in charge of his prisoner was over, and
the thought was as gall and wormwood to him.
Frank glanced in turn at the three figures. Then he approached his host.
"You wished to see me, Mr. Hendrie."
The millionaire raised his head and nodded.
"Yes, boy," he said, and Leyburn's eyes suddenly lit with a venom that
seemed to fit with their narrow setting.
Now Hendrie seemed in no hurry to proceed. He turned about leisurely,
and reached over to his cigar cabinet. He selected a cigar with some
care, smelled it, and rolled it lightly between finger and thumb. Then
he pushed the cabinet along the desk in Frank's direction.
"Smoke?" he said, and bit off the end of his own cigar.
Frank shook his head.
"I'd rather smoke my pipe," he said simply.
Hendrie's eyes became less cold. He nodded.
"Sit--anyway," he said, in his brief, almost brusque fashion.
Frank obeyed, and the other lit his cigar.
When it was burning satisfactorily, he turned thoughtful eyes on Frank,
who was in the act of lighting his pipe.
"Say," he began, evidently thinking hard, "Hinkling's sent word he'll
be along in a while. Couldn't just say how long. Seems to me there's
got to be some talk in this room--before he comes. This feller here,
Austin Leyburn, or Tug, as I've always known him, is full to the brim
with stuff he's crazy to hand out to the--general public. It's mostly
about me. You see, we knew each other well, some twenty years ago. He
sort of thinks he knows a heap about me I'd hate to hand on to anybody
else, specially you--and Mrs. Hendrie. I've been trying to convince him
this while back I'm just yearning for you both to hear all he's got to
tell, but I want to be around so I know he tells it right. You see,
it's important he tells it right. Guess my being around don't seem to
suit him, and he's kicking. Says he'll tell it when he wants, and in
his own way. Not as I want, and at my time. He says he's going to raise
trouble all around for us--when he gets away. I've told him he can do
what in hell he likes--when he gets away. Meanwhile, you are going to
hear all he wants you to hear right now. If he won't tell you in front
of me as I want him to, then I'll tell it you in front of him as he
don't want me to. If I hide anything or forget anything, or tell it
wrong, it's up to him to correct me, same as I should correct him.
Whether he likes it or not, that story's going to be told right here
and now."
There was no mistaking Alexander Hendrie's manner. Frank knew that a
crisis in the man's life had arrived, perhaps a crisis in the lives of
all those present. He made no attempt to reply. He knew that the
millionaire's words were the preliminary to a skirmish in which he had
no part beyond that of an onlooker.
Hendrie turned to Leyburn.
"You get me?" he demanded. "You can choose to tell--or not. I don't
care a curse which you do."
Leyburn suddenly cleared his throat. He sat forward in his chair and
even in the failing light it was plain--the furious flashing of his
eyes. Angus lost no detail of any purpose, other than to talk, in his
prisoner. He sat absolutely alert.
"Yes," Leyburn suddenly cried out. "I'll tell the story to this--this
cur of a boy of yours, damn you." Then he flung out an arm, pointing at
the man astride his chair, smoking in his steady, unruffled fashion.
"See that man," he cried, with added fury, addressing himself to Frank.
"See that low-down thief? See him, a cur who can even rob the dead?
That's your father!"
It was a terrible moment. It was a moment so painful that no added word
could have intensified its drama.
Nor was any word forthcoming. Hendrie smoked on. His face was calm, his
balance of restraint was quite undisturbed before the hideous
accusation.
One swift glance of Frank's blue eyes shot in his father's direction,
but, otherwise, he, too, continued to smoke his pipe without a sign. He
knew it was not for him to speak--yet. Angus silently gritted his
teeth. His astonishment could not be doubted. Leyburn alone seemed to
be affected. He had lashed himself to a super-heat by his own words.
"Say," he cried, still addressing himself to Frank. "You young skunk, I
can thank you for all this--this that's happened here. I find you, a
jail-bird, coming straight from the penitentiary, and I take you, make
a man of you, and this--this is the way you repay me. But I might have
known it would be. If ever there was a son of a rotten father, you are
he. The three of you've got me here. You reckon I'm in your power.
Guess none of you'd stop at murder, if it suited you. I tell you unless
you do it, and do it quick, there's a long road ahead of us all, and
we'll travel it together, and I'll fight you every inch of the way."
Hendrie removed his cigar from between his lips.
"The boy's waiting for your yarn. The other'll keep for--later."
"Yes, you're right, Leo. Oh, you're right," Leyburn retorted
passionately. "It'll keep till later. Meanwhile I'll get on with the
story." He turned again to Frank. "You're this man's bastard. You
understand--his bastard. Twenty years ago we were on the Yukon
together----"
"Not together. We were both there," corrected Hendrie.
"Yes, we were both there. You were living with your paramour--the woman
Audie--this fellow's mother. I was with my partner, Charlie. He was
sick to death. We'd got a big wad of gold from the creek, and because
Charlie was sick----"
"And you'd got enough gold to suit your purposes," put in Hendrie
quietly.
"We decided to return to civilization." Leyburn went on, ignoring the
interruption. "I hoped to get him cured."
"So you made him face the winter trail." Hendrie's addition was made
quite without passion.
"We set out down country with our dogs, and all our goods, and gold,
and got held up by a blizzard. We were camped in a bluff. Charlie could
not stand the weather. He got so weak we couldn't travel. Then before
we struck camp he died. I didn't know he was dead, and I had gone to
gather firewood. Meanwhile, this man and your mother made up their
minds to return to civilization. He had a big wad of gold. You were to
be born before winter was out, and your mother was scared to have you
born up there. So she made this man bring her down. She reckoned he was
honest, and would marry her. She reckoned like that because she was a
woman," he added, with burning contempt.
He waited for Hendrie's comment, which came promptly.
"She reckoned that way because she knew it was my purpose," he said
coldly.
"But you didn't marry her, did you?" Leyburn cried tauntingly.
"I didn't marry her because she was dead when I finally found her
whereabouts."
"But she did not die till after you deserted her," cried Leyburn, with
venomous triumph.
"Best go straight on with the story. You want the boy to know it
all--not in pieces." Hendrie went on smoking.
Leyburn turned to Frank again.
"And it's a pretty story," he assured him. "Listen. A week after we
started down the trail these two followed us with a scout. They, too,
got caught in the blizzard. They got caught in the open. They were high
up in the hills. An accident happened. They lost their gold, dropped
with a lot of their baggage over a precipice. This man got mad. He
loved gold. He cared for nothing else. Your mother was nothing beside
it. She was just a burden. Finally they made camp a few miles from us.
After a while this man saw our smoke in the distance. He stole out on
the excuse of fetching wood. He tramped to our camp. He came there when
I was away for wood and Charlie had just died. Finding Charlie dead,
and no one about, he stole our gold, our dogs and sled, our provisions
and blankets, and hit the trail south, leaving your mother with the
scout, and me to walk back to their camp or starve. That's the man who
is your father. That's the man you've gone over to, and sacrificed your
pledges to humanity for. Do you understand what you've done? Do you?
You've helped this criminal, this skunk of a man who dishonored your
mother, and left her and her unborn child on the long winter trail to
die, this thief, this ghoul who could rob the dead, and renounced your
most sacred pledges. By God, you are your father's son!"
The scorn and hatred the man flung into his final charge was far, far
beyond the power of words.
He looked for its effect, waiting for Frank to take up his challenge.
But he remained disappointed.
"Well?" he urged, with gathering fury.
Still there was no answer in the darkened room.
But though he remained silent Frank's heart was beating hard. A strange
excitement was plunging wildly through his veins. He felt that he
wanted to reach out his strong young hands and do hurt. He felt at that
moment, and during the moments he was hearkening to the venomous story,
aggravated by every hateful inflection that could goad, that relief
could only come in violence. And his desire was to silence that hateful
voice, and choke the story it was telling back into the throat of the
man telling it. It did not hurt him to hear these things of his own
father because he was his father. They hurt him because they were on
the tongue of this man, who, from the bottom of his heart, he had
learned so to despise and hate.
Alexander Hendrie shot a sidelong glance into the boy's face. It was a
furtive glance, watchful and anxious. Then his eyes returned to their
dark brooding.
A moment later, as Frank made no response to the man's challenge,
Hendrie removed the cigar from his mouth.
"You stuck nearer the truth than I expected you would. Maybe you knew
it would be useless to do otherwise, seeing I'm here to put you right,"
he said, in his deep, unruffled tones. "Now----"
He broke off, and glanced quickly at the door as a sharp knock made
itself heard. Suddenly he held up his hand, as though to enjoin
silence, and, in a moment, his eyes lit with a mingling of wild hope
and abject fear.
The door opened and, silhouetted against the brilliantly lit hall
beyond, stood the slight figure of an elderly man with iron gray hair.
Hendrie sprang to his feet and pressed the switch of the electric
light. Then he turned and faced Professor Hinkling as the surgeon
advanced into the room.
The little man came straight up to him with his hand out-stretched. His
clean-cut features were smiling, but he looked tired and nervous.
"I think," he said deliberately, "we have turned the corner, Mr.
Hendrie. I have every reason to believe Mrs. Hendrie will recover. The
operation has been quite successful. I shall remain with Dr. Fraser to
watch the case for a few days, but I have no fears of ultimate
recovery. We were only just in time. Another day." He held up his hands
to signify disaster, and the millionaire understood. "My best
congratulations, my dear sir. She should be about again in less than a
month."
*****
The door closed on the retreating figure of the great surgeon. For a
moment Hendrie stood looking after him. Then he abruptly turned and
flung the end of his cigar into the cuspidor beside his desk. Then he
turned again, and his eyes flashed round upon the three men who had
remained perfectly silent during the surgeon's brief visit. They were
different eyes now which finally settled upon the man who had so
recently heaped accusation and insult upon his head. They were full of
that great fighting spirit which they all knew so well.
He strode up to Austin Leyburn, who sat watching him speculatively, who
was waiting for whatever development was yet to come.
"Get up!" he cried, with a deep, underlying ferocity in his voice and
manner. "Get right up on to your hind legs. You heard what he said? You
heard?" He drew his right hand from his coat pocket and produced a
revolver. "If his verdict had been otherwise you would never have left
this room. Every chamber of this gun is loaded, and each bullet would
have found its way into your rotten body. As it is, you can go. You are
free. Your car, and your man, will meet you in Everton. Take my advice
and get away from this neighborhood without delay. When you are away
remember this. You can take what action you like for what has happened
here. I don't care a curse. But I'll warn you right here and now, that
you have committed criminal conspiracy in playing the stock market, and
when I give the word, the machinery for prosecution will be set moving
against you. Further, I'd warn you that if one word of the story you've
told here to-night reaches the world outside, that word will be given,
and you'll pay as you never yet guessed you'd ever pay for the luxury
of a private revenge. You get me? Now go! Go quick!"
Austin Leyburn was on his feet. The two men stood eye to eye. With all
his faults, the difference between them left the balance absurdly in
the millionaire's favor.
"Yes, I'll go. And I'll remember," cried Leyburn fiercely. "You can
shout now, but I'll remember everything. You won't have to set that
machinery in motion, but when the time comes--and I'll be looking for
that time all my life--you'll find I have remembered everything, both
for you and--your bastard son."
As his last words leaped from between his clenched teeth he moved
swiftly across to the door. Hendrie shot a quick glance at Angus, and
the watchful Scot promptly followed him out.
"It's a pretty story, Frank."
Hendrie's lips were smiling, but his eyes were half anxious, half
questioning.
"Guess it hasn't gained niceness from that feller," he went on. "No,"
he added thoughtfully. "Nothing ever gained in niceness from those
lips. Tug never had pleasant ways. Still, there it is--and----" In
spite of himself his eyes were wholly anxious now--"it's true, when you
clean his tone off it."
Frank rose from his chair and moved away across the room. His movement
seemed objectless, yet his father understood. He knew that a great
conflict was going on within that silent heart, and he wondered.
But Leyburn's venomous manner of telling his, Hendrie's, story had
satisfied the millionaire. He preferred that his son should know it
from its worst possible aspect. That was why he had forced it from the
labor man's lips. He desired no smoothing over of the roughnesses of
his past character. Certainly not for his own son's benefit. He was
determined that this boy should sit in judgment upon him with his eyes
wide open to all his shortcomings. He wanted him to know his father as
he was.
"I wanted him to tell Monica, too," Hendrie went on, after a pause.
"But she's not fit to hear it--yet. Now I'll have to tell her myself. I
shan't cover things up, anyway. There's just one thing I want to add.
It's right I should add it. Leyburn didn't know it." He smiled. "Guess
no one knew it but me. I wanted the truth from him, so we'll have it
all. I want to tell you, after your mother got down to civilization I
spent most of Tug's gold trying to find her--to marry her. It took me
weeks and weeks. Then I found she was dead, and you--I had lost you,
too."
Frank turned round, and there was thankfulness and no condemnation in
the eyes that looked into his father's across the room. Instantly
Hendrie's face became set.
"Say," he cried quickly, "don't think I'm squealing. Don't think I'm
shuffling. These are just facts, same as the others. Get a grip on
things, boy. I'm wholly unrepentant for the things I've done.
Especially for--helping myself to Tug's gold. I don't go back on
anything I do. These things were, and I--stand for them. There's just
one other thing I'd like you to know. I didn't know you were my son
till I set about getting you released from the penitentiary. I learned
that from Monica, when she told me about you. I didn't tell her of my
discovery--again this is the truth--because I was scared to lose her
love. You see, boy, there are some things make cowards of us in spite
of ourselves. I told you that before.
"That's pretty well all. Maybe there's things you'd like to know later,
when you aren't feeling so hot about this. Well, I'll be glad to tell
you when you want to hear them. I'm your father, boy, and Monica is
your stepmother. This is your home, same as any other place I own.
You've just to open your lips and say the word, and your share of all I
have is waiting for you--everything I have or--am. You get that? It's
all up to you. You're just as free as you were before. Your own
decision goes with me. I just want you to get me clearly. I want you to
understand all that's in my head. You are my son, and I'm proud and
pleased about it. But--I bend the knee to no man--not even to you--my
son."
The man's curious dignity, his crude truth, and deliberate honesty of
purpose were superlative. Frank was looking upon the man as he was,
shorn of everything that could hide, in however slight a degree, the
rugged character that was his, and he knew it.
This was the father whose violent youthful passions had brought him
into the world. This was the father who had given him the breath of
life which had borne him upon its stormy bosom. This unrepentant
sinner. This strong man among strong men. This human creature so ready
to err, yet so full of human nature, was his father.
The knowledge somehow left him no sense of outrage. He had neither
resentment nor dislike. Only, in the back of his simple mind, was a
lurking admiration for one who had the courage to talk as he had just
talked, to do as he had just done.
He drew a step nearer.
"Father," he said. Then he paused. After a moment he repeated the word.
"Father--it sounds queer to call you 'father,' doesn't it?"
The millionaire nodded. His eyes were smiling.
"Your ways may not be my ways," he went on. "I don't know. Anyway, I
fancy you just see things your own way, and I mine. All that man said
left me cold--except one thing. He said you--deserted my mother. You've
cleared that up--and I'm glad. I'd sooner believe the truth from you
than from him. But I seem to have heard such a heap. I seem to have
lived through years this past week. I can't just get that full grip you
spoke of. Maybe I will after a while. Still--there's a thing standing
right out in my mind, and--and I'm glad. Our Mon is going to get
through. God's been pretty good to us in that. She's going to live for
us both. Say, we had to fight hard--and it's good to fight--after all.
Since I've tasted what fighting means I seem to understand some of your
life, seem to understand something of you. I'm glad we were to--gether
in this. I think I'll get out, and--just walk around. I--yes, I want
to--think."
The millionaire remained where he was. He made no movement. His eyes
were on his son's face. He saw its color come and go in the brilliant
light of the room. His halting speech told him far more than his words.
He knew, deep down in his heart, that all he desired, all he longed
for, was to be fulfilled.
He knew that in the midst of the threatening disaster that had so long
hung over him, when all the world, and the powers of Fate had seemed to
be working against him, not only was the woman he loved to be restored
to him, but he was to find and recover his--son.
He nodded kindly.
"Yes, boy. I kind of know how you're feeling. Just get around,
and--sort things out," he said. "When you've done, just round-up your
Phyllis and tell her the things you've heard. I'd like you to. After
that, if you've the notion, you can come right back to me."
Frank drew another step nearer. His father waited.
"Yes--father. I--think I will."
There was doubt and hesitation in the boy's words and movements.
Hendrie remained quite still. Suddenly Frank turned away and walked
toward the door. Half-way across the room he paused again irresolutely.
He glanced back. The smiling eyes of his father caught his.
In a moment his indecision passed, and he strode back quickly with
long, firm strides.
As he drew near, his great right hand was thrust out.
"Won't--won't you shake hands, father?" he cried.
In an instant his hand was caught in a crushing grip.
"Why, yes, lad," cried Hendrie, a great light shining in his eyes.
"Say, this is just the greatest moment in my life."