FELIX BRAND HAS A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR
It was evident to Dr. Annister that Felix Brand was having a bad
quarter of an hour. But the little physician, sitting upright in his
capacious chair, his elbows on its arms and his finger-tips resting
against one another, could not find it in his heart to abate in the
least the penetrating gaze of his gray eyes or the gentle insistence
of his questions. For the longer their talk continued the more he
became convinced that the man before him was not speaking the truth
and the more he felt it necessary, for his daughter's sake, to find
out what was the truth.
"I am sorry to have to tell you, Felix," said Dr. Annister, in the
beginning of their conversation, "that I am unable to feel entire
confidence in your explanation of your long and mysterious absence."
The architect hesitated for a bare instant before he turned to reply.
The other noted that he had to stop to think, that neither movement
nor answer was spontaneous.
"Do you mean me to understand, Dr. Annister," he said courteously,
"that you think I am lying?"
"Let's not put it just that way. Suppose we call it the endeavor on
your part to conceal something you don't want known--the instinct of
self-defense. Morally, doubtless, it is the same thing. But I am not
concerned just now with the moral nature of the thing itself. I am
much concerned, however, for Mildred's sake, with the nature of the
thing behind it."
Brand shot a quick, uneasy glance at him and moved restlessly in his
chair. But there was no change in the customary, soft modulations of
his voice or the urbanity of his manner as he replied: "Pardon me, Dr.
Annister, but you are taking for granted something you have no right
to assume. You know that I am an honorable man, accustomed to show at
least ordinary regard for the truth. And therefore I say that you have
no right to doubt my word on mere suspicion."
"My suspicion, if you wish to call it so, is well enough grounded to
deserve, on my part, the most careful attention and, on yours, entire
respect. Your explanation seems to me to be so thin and full of holes
as not to be worth a moment's notice. It would be puerile for me to
tell you how many opportunities you would have had on the train, as
you were leaving the railroad, when you returned to it, and on your
way home, to write or to telegraph to me, to Mildred, or to Miss
Marne, and give us some idea of your whereabouts and assurance of your
safety."
"I did write, on the train, to Mildred and also to Miss Marne.
Apparently, the letters were lost in the mails or the porter forgot to
post them."
Dr. Annister's finger-tips patted one another softly while his eyes
searched the patrician face of his companion and marked in it signs of
uneasiness.
"I have always supposed," he said quietly, "that a telegraph line runs
beside the railroad into West Virginia, and I have not heard that the
wires were down during your absence."
Felix Brand rose and with hands thrust into his pockets moved
uncertainly from one chair to another. "Mildred has entire confidence
in my explanation," he said with a touch of defiance in his voice.
"She knows I would not deceive her."
"Mildred is young," her father replied gently, "and ignorant of the
evil of which there is such a plenty in the world. She is very, very
much in love with her promised husband and if he told her that black
is white the dazzle in her eyes would make her see it white. But,
Felix, it is just because she is so young, so innocent and so much at
the mercy of her loving heart that I must speak plainly to you. I
don't expect you to be entirely worthy of such a wealth of pure young
love as she gives you. The man doesn't live who is clean enough in
heart and in life to be worthy of such a treasure. But I do expect you
to be, Felix, and I must assure myself that you are, clean enough and
honorable enough not to blight all the rest of her life. What is past
is past, but from now on there must be nothing that will not bear the
light of day."
Brand was moving slowly back and forth, his countenance expressive of
inward debate and hesitation. He was asking himself if it would not be
the wisest plan to lay his trouble frankly before the physician and
ask for his help. But his pride and his confidence in himself drew
back from such a step.
No, he told himself, nobody must know. It must be kept in the darkest
secrecy--suppose the thing should get out, and into the papers! His
heart quaked at the thought. And he could not feel sure what view Dr.
Annister would take of the truth--he might forbid the marriage with
Mildred. No, he would keep the truth locked in his own breast and
fight his battle alone. Well, he was sure of winning. It might take a
little time, but he had no doubt of the outcome. Nevertheless, there
was some uncertainty in his manner, though his courteous tones were
firm enough as he said:
"If you will not take my word--and permit me to say, Dr. Annister,
that it has never been doubted before--what more can I say?"
"You can tell me the truth, Felix," bluntly replied his prospective
father-in-law. "I am fond of you, my boy, very fond of you,--I think
you know that. I am proud of your genius and I expect to see you
become one of the most famous architects of our time. More than
anything else in the world I want to see my little girl as happy, as
your wife, as her love deserves she should be. But I must tell you
frankly, Felix, that I am afraid. I am afraid for you and your future
and very much afraid for that of my daughter with you. That's why I
feel I must speak as plainly as I am going to. I wish you would make
it easier for me by meeting me half way."
The architect, still moving about the room with slow restlessness,
stopped short and cast a quick, suspicious glance at the physician.
The sweat broke out on his forehead as the fear leaped into his heart
that Dr. Annister had guessed the truth. He had to grope among his
panic thoughts for a moment before he could reply. His voice was a
little strained as he said:
"Meet you half way? I don't know what you mean?"
Dr. Annister leaned back in his chair and sighed. But his searching
gray eyes did not leave the other's face nor fail to take note there
of the frequent signs of inner perturbation. Sadly he was saying to
himself that everything in Brand's expression and manner increased his
fears and justified his suspicion.
"Well, then," he said, "let us come straight to the point. A look, an
expression, a tell-tale sign that I don't like has been steadily
growing stronger in your face for the last six months. For the
physician, and especially for the one who deals as much as I do with
the psychological results of misliving, a man's countenance becomes a
veritable table of contents for the book of his life. And your face is
beginning to tell me such a story of self-indulgence and sensuality as
makes me unwilling to give my daughter to your arms."
Brand turned a little away, as if he would conceal the traitor face
whose refined beauty this inquisitor was finding even less than skin
deep. "Of course," he said, "I am not as innocent as I was a dozen
years ago. But--what you would have, Dr. Annister? A saint? You know
you would have to look far to find one among modern young men. I'm no
worse than the most of them and much better than some."
The physician was leaning forward again in his chair, his finger-tips
tapping. He paid no attention to his companion's defense but pursued
his own line of thought with an increasing tensity in his voice.
"I have been watching that revealing table of contents in your face
grow steadily plainer for the last six months. After each of these
long absences, for which you can give no satisfactory explanation, the
expression has become, to my eyes, stronger and more significant than
before. It forces me to the hypothesis, almost to the conclusion, that
you have been spending this time somewhere in the under-world, in some
sort of secret debauch."
Brand wiped the starting beads of sweat from his brow, and said, "I
don't believe you really think me that sort of man, Dr. Annister!"
"Or, possibly," the physician continued, "that you have become a
victim to the alcohol or one of the drug habits. I don't see the
signs of that sort of thing upon you, yet. But--well, if such is your
misfortune, I wish, Felix, that you would confide in me. Such habits
are curable and even if my other hypothesis, which your physical
appearance has forced me to, should be true we might be able to find
its cause in some nerve lesion susceptible of remedy. In either case,
you know as well as I do, Felix, that there is disaster before you,
physical, moral and mental, if you keep on. Make a clean breast of it,
and I'll do my best to help you."
Again the temptation was assailing the architect's mind to accept this
proffered help and shift his burden to the shoulders of this little
but puissant man of healing. Perhaps those tapping fingers could make
him whole again. But as he faced avowal of the truth his whole soul
drew back. It was impossible--the one thing he could not do. Then came
another idea, perhaps a way out.
"Suppose--I do not admit it, but suppose, for the sake of
your argument, that your hypothesis should be true. What
then--Mildred--what about----"
Dr. Annister sprang to his feet and broke in upon the other's
stumbling words in a voice whose low-toned intensity gave his listener
an uncomfortable thrill: "Nothing could make me happier than to see my
child the happy wife of the man she loves, if he deserves her love.
But I'd rather see her dead than married to a man of gross and unclean
life, who has made himself a slave to seasons of secret debauch!"
There was silence for a moment while Brand looked away, unwilling to
meet the physician's eyes. His face was pale and he breathed as if
there were a weight upon his chest. Again he was considering open
confession. But when he spoke he said:
"Dr. Annister, you are most unjust. I told you the truth about my
absence. On that question there is nothing more to be said. But it is
my right to know, and I insist upon knowing, whether or not you have
any basis whatever for these insinuations you have been making, except
your own suspicions."
Mildred's father gazed thoughtfully at her betrothed for a moment
before he replied. He was saying to himself that the man's words were
candid enough in their import, but that, somehow, the speech had not
rung true. There was no spark of indignation in those brown eyes, that
seemed to have some difficulty in meeting his. Nor was there any
quiver of that honest resentfulness he longed to see. Beneath Brand's
habitual manner of slightly ceremonious politeness and deference he
discerned uncertainty of thought and purpose.
"There's something wrong here," the physician was thinking, "something
woefully wrong. He doesn't seem to feel the monstrosity of what I've
almost been charging him with." Unconsciously he shook his head sadly
as he began to speak aloud:
"As I told you before, Felix, with the knowledge I have spent a
lifetime of hard work gaining, I don't need any better evidence than
my own eyes can give. I consider it as worthy of confidence as any
information I might have from another. That and my own intelligence
are the sole ground of my fears. These did have, however, some slight
corroboration in the rather mysterious manner and assurances of your
friend, Mr. Hugh Gordon."
At the sound of that name Brand faced sharply round upon the
astonished doctor, anger flaming in his face and eyes.
"That man!" he cried. "Are you taking his word against mine? He is my
worst enemy, and he will stop at nothing to injure me. He is a thief,
a murderer, or would be if he dared. I demand that you tell me what he
has been charging me with!"
Dr. Annister stared in amazement at this flare of hostility and wrath.
"You mistake me, Felix," he said quietly, although inwardly he was
wondering much as to the cause of the outburst. "I did not say he
charged you with anything, nor did he. On the contrary, he seemed to
me to be doing his best to execute a friendly office toward you. I
thought it strange that he should be so positive you were in no danger
of any sort and yet should not know where you were. He seemed sincere
and straightforward and the only hypothesis upon which I could
reconcile his two statements was one that strengthened what you call
my suspicions."
While the doctor spoke Brand had been moving about with quick steps
and sharp turns, scowling and muttering. "Oh, I know the fellow goes
about making this pretense of friendship," he said sullenly, "but
there's no trust to be put in him. He is bent on my ruin. But I'll get
even with him, I'll down him yet!"
He took another turn or two, apparently endeavoring to get himself
under control again, while Dr. Annister regarded him with gray brows
wrinkled thoughtfully. He began to feel, uneasily, that there was more
underneath this situation than he had guessed.
"Well, Felix," he said at last, "I am sorry that our conversation has
had no better result. I hoped you would clear this matter up and, if
you need help, would let me give you whatever advice and aid I could.
Think the matter over more carefully and if you should see it in a
different light come to me at any time and let me see what I can do
for you."
"I thank you, Dr. Annister. I shall keep your kindness in mind,
although I do not suppose I shall have any more occasion to make use
of it in the future than I have now. But Mildred--" he hesitated as he
turned an anxious countenance upon his companion. "You are not going
to forbid our marriage on account of these baseless and unjust notions
of yours?"
Down in his heart Dr. Annister was at that moment deciding that
his daughter should never become this man's wife unless all his
apprehensions and fears were first cleared away. But he feared the
effect upon Mildred, especially at this juncture, of a forced breaking
of the engagement. So he temporized.
"No, I shall not forbid it, or at least, not now. But I can not
consent to a marriage in the early future, as you have both begged me
to do. You will have to wait a while longer, Felix, and prove yourself
worthy. I don't like these mysterious disappearances."
After Brand had gone the little doctor dropped down into his favorite
arm-chair in his usual attitude of profound thought. "Poor Mildred!
Poor little girl!" he was thinking. "I guess her mother had better
take her abroad this summer and let us see if change and travel and
absence won't have some effect on her devotion. It would be awfully
lonely for me here, Mildred would be wretchedly unhappy and Margaret
would have a devil of a time. Still, the experiment will be worth
trying."