On the following evening, just as early as the rules of propriety would
permit, Mr. McGowan turned into the private road that led up to the Fox
estate. He walked slowly along the wide avenue beneath the spreading
elms and stately chestnuts. He had dined with the Elder many times
during the few months he had been in the village, but on those other
occasions Elizabeth had been absent. The house had always seemed cold
and forbidding both outside and inside. As he came out of the shaded
roadway into the sweeping semicircle described before the main entrance
to the house, he caught himself wondering if the stiff interior would
seem softened by the presence of the girl. He began at once to chide
himself for entertaining such a sentimental notion, but before he could
finish the rebuke the door swung back, and Elizabeth Fox stood in the
opening. She was dressed in a simple blue frock of clinging stuff,
which set off the perfect lines of her athletic body. The blue of her
eyes took on a deeper hue as though to harmonize with the shade of her
gown.
"Good evening, Mr. McGowan. We are so glad you could come. Father will
be right down."
The minister's emotions played leap-frog with his heart, and he stumbled
awkwardly on the upper step. He made some stupidly obvious observation
concerning the condition of the weather as he followed his hostess into
the library. He realized that he was acting strangely for one who had
reached the supposedly practical view of life where all sentiment is
barred from social intercourse with the fair sex, but he also realized
that he was powerless to check the surge of what he now felt within.
With kaleidoscopic rapidity there flashed through his mind every
occasion when he had been with Miss Fox, from the first meeting beneath
the elm-tree in the Captain's yard to the present time, and he
recognized what it was that had sent scurrying his practical views of
life. He was in love, not with the beauty of this girl, but with her.
That love had come like the opening strains of a grand symphony, subtly
and gently disturbing his emotional equilibrium, but with accumulative
effect the transitions had come with the passing weeks, till now every
interest in his life seemed to be pouring out into the one emotion he
felt.
Elizabeth had preceded him into the library, and was standing motionless
before the mantel. She became suddenly aware of what was going on within
the mind of Mr. McGowan, and a shy embarrassment crept into her eyes.
Simultaneously, an unreasoning determination took possession of the
minister. Unconsciously, he began to move in her direction, unmindful of
the sound of footfalls on the stair. Only one step remained between Mr.
McGowan and Elizabeth when Elder Fox entered the room.
"I trust I'm not intruding----"
The Elder began nervously to stroke his chops. His breath came heavily,
shutting off his words. A hunted look leaped into his eyes as he
studied the tense face of the eager young man. Could it be possible that
the fears of the Reverend Mr. Means--privately made known to the Elder
after the installation service--had foundation in fact? Or had the
suggestion of Mr. Means lodged in the Elder's mind, playing havoc with
his imagination?
Mr. McGowan drew off to the far end of the mantel, and began,
figuratively, to kick himself. He had often declared that a man in love
was the biggest mule on earth, and now here he was, the king of them
all, a genuine descendant of Balaam's mount with all his asinine
qualities, but lacking his common mule sense.
"I--I beg your pardon," he stammered.
"There is no occasion for excuses," graciously replied the girl.
"Father, Mr. McGowan and I were----" She paused, blushing in confusion.
"Really, Mr. McGowan, what were we saying?"
She laughed, and it was so infectious that the men forgot to look
serious, and joined with her.
"I should say--er--that you have put the matter in a very diplomatic
way," observed the Elder, apparently once more himself. "No explanations
are necessary--er--I assure you. I was once a young man, and have not
forgotten that fact. I apologize, Mr. McGowan, if by my attitude I
appeared--er--to misjudge you. The trouble was with me, not with you. An
odd fancy momentarily got the upper hand of me, and upset me for an
instant. Make yourself quite at home, sir."
It was not long till they were called to table, and in the discussion of
parish matters the strangeness of the Elder's action was for the time
being relegated to the background.
"You have doubtless heard a hundred times to-day how proud we all were
of the way you answered the questions yesterday," commented the Elder
enthusiastically. "You showed a fine spirit, too, sir, one--er--which
some of the older men might well emulate."
"I feel greatly indebted to you, Mr. Fox, for the final outcome."
The Elder waved his hand as though lightly to brush aside such words of
praise, and yet in the same movement he modestly acknowledged that
without his aid the young minister could have done nothing.
"I might also add, that we are delighted with the work you are doing at
the church," continued the Elder magnanimously. "It is--er--very good.
Though I am still a little dubious about your associations down at the
club, still----"
"Father's ambition is to have all the pews filled," broke in Elizabeth,
attempting to divert her father from a delicate topic.
"No, my dear. That is hardly my position. There must never be a
sacrificing of principle, even for the sake of full pews. A full
church--er--is not the most important part of parish work. Am I not
right, Mr. McGowan?"
"Quite right, if that is the end sought in itself."
"I am convinced from what you said yesterday that you will furnish
us--er--with both. I am confidently looking forward to one of our most
prosperous years."
"Both?" queried the minister.
"Yes. I am old-fashioned enough to believe in the need of--er--the
saving power of the gospel. Full pews without that would make our
church the sounding of brass and the tinkling of cymbal. We must have
the old-time power in our churches to-day, Mr. McGowan."
"You think Little River needs reforming, Father?"
"That is exactly the point I make: it is more than reformation we need,
it is conversion. Take the Athletic Club, for example. Will reform stop
them? No, sir, no more than a straw-stack would stop a tornado. They
need--er--a mighty thunderbolt from heaven, and I hope that you will let
God use you, sir, as the transmitting agency."
A picture of himself occupying the place of Zeus, holding in his hand
the lightnings of heaven, flitted through the minister's mind. He smiled
faintly. Elizabeth evidently caught what was in the young man's mind,
for she met his glance with a merry twinkle.
"Really, Father, don't you think Mr. McGowan would look out of place as
a lightning-rod, even on Little River Church?"
"I was speaking figuratively, my dear," he replied, somewhat
crestfallen that his reference should be thus irreverently treated.
"The boys in that club are a reckless lot, and they are doing the
work--er--of the devil. They must be brought to repentance."
"I don't think that is fair, Father. The church is not wholly without
blame for what those boys have done," declared Elizabeth emphatically.
"What did we do to keep them from going out and organizing as they
have?"
"No doubt we did make mistakes in the beginning, but our errors do not
atone for their sins."
"But, Father----"
"There, Beth, never mind. We can never agree on that point, and we
should not entangle Mr. McGowan in our differences. I only hope he will
do all in his power to make them see the sinfulness of their ways."
Conversation turned into other channels under the direction of
Elizabeth. They were discussing modern fiction when the door at the end
of the hall swung back with a bang and a loud halloo echoed through the
house. Elizabeth sprang up from her place and ran to the dining-room
door just as a tall young man bounded through. He came up erect at sight
of the stranger.
"Harold!" cried Elizabeth. "When did you come?"
"Just now. Didn't my war-whoop announce me?"
"But how did you get over from Little River station?"
"Walked."
"Why didn't you telephone? I'd have come over to meet you."
"Needed the exercise. Hello, Dad."
The Elder greeted the young man with a cold nod. His hand trembled
slightly as he stiffly extended it.
"We are just a short time at table. Will you join us?"
"Be glad to, Dad. I'm starved," he declared, eyeing the minister as he
drew up a chair.
"Oh, Mr. McGowan, please excuse us!" cried Elizabeth. "This is my
brother. Harold, this is our new minister, Reverend Mr. McGowan. Harold
comes home so seldom that I fear his unexpected arrival demoralized our
manners."
"Delighted to meet you, Mr. McGowan," cordially greeted Harold. "Heard
of you before I got in sight of the house."
The young men gripped each other's hands. Consternation took possession
of the Elder. Had his son fully understood?
"Mr. McGowan is the minister at our little church," he said
significantly.
"That's what Beth just said. Didn't I say the right thing to him, Dad?
Want me to start all over again like I had to when I was a kid?"
He eyed the minister with a curious expression as they took their seats
about the table.
"Maybe Dad wants me to repeat some verses to you. Used to do it and get
patted on the head."
Mr. McGowan laughed heartily, but the Elder showed his displeasure.
"That will do, Harold," he commanded sternly. "I shall not allow profane
jesting about sacred things in my house."
"Closet next, is it? Never mind, Dad, I'll try not to shock you again.
Haven't had much hankering for closets since I got shut up in that hole
over in Sydney. They called it a prison, but it was more like a
potato-pit than anything else."
"Sydney?" questioned the minister.
"Yes, Australia. You see, Mr. McGowan, I was a real prodigal for more
than two years. Chased out to California after I graduated from Yale,
and got mixed up out there in another fellow's scrape. To save my skin I
shipped on a freighter to Australia. Over there I tried to save another
poor devil from the lock-up, and got in bad with the authorities. Yes, I
was a real prodigal, always trying to help the other fellow out of
trouble and getting the worst end of it every time. The only difference
between me and the Bible chap was that Father did not heap treasure on
me when I left, and didn't kill the fatted calf when I returned."
During this recital the Elder had fidgeted to the end of his chair. "I
cannot see, son, why you persist in telling of your wickedness to
everybody. It's a thing rather to be ashamed of."
"I acknowledge that, Dad, but the closet idea suggested it to my mind.
Then, perhaps, it's not a bad idea for Mr. McGowan to know the worst
side of me first. I spent about a week in that hole they called a
prison," he said turning to the minister, "and seven days there couldn't
be very easily effaced from my memory unless I went bugs and had an
awful lapse. But the result was not so bad, for that place proved to be
my swine-pen where I came to myself. It was just about as much like a
pig-sty as any place I ever didn't sleep in.... Do you happen to know
anything about Sydney, Mr. McGowan?"
"Not much. I know it's quite a trading center, but most of my
information is second-hand."
"It is the best trading center on the Australian coast. An odd case came
to the office from there last week. You know, perhaps, that I'm a member
of the Starr and Jordan law firm in New York. Well, our branch office in
Sydney referred this case to our office in London, and they, in turn,
sent it over here. The reason it was transferred here is that the
documents say the client now lives in America. I happened to be put on
the case because I knew a little about Sydney. The same case has been up
several times, it seems, for some woman over there keeps pounding away
at it. The queer part of it is that the trail has been followed up to a
certain point and then lost at that point every time. It is the same old
story of what is happening every day. Relatives of a wealthy trader left
Sydney several years ago, the trader died, and the heirs to his fortune
can't be found. The strange part of it is that these people can be
traced as far as America without the slightest trouble, and then,
without any apparent reason, they suddenly drop out of existence as
completely as though they had been kidnapped and carried to a desolate
island. So little data has been collected from the other side that the
firm has decided to send me over to Sydney. It promises to be quite an
adventure. That's why I came home to-night, Dad. I'm leaving in the
morning."
Elder Fox had been listening intently, and at mention of the proposed
trip he grew pale.
"I--er--should not go if I were you, Harold. They may arrest you again.
The police of Australia have a way of remembering things against former
prisoners."
"How do you know so much about the police of Australia?"
"I've read it, sir," hastily explained the Elder.
"But I've got to go, Dad. They'll not pinch me. They found the right
chap before they let me go, and couldn't do enough for me when they
discovered their mistake.... You say you've never visited Sydney, Mr.
McGowan?"
"I was born there. But I don't remember anything about the place, as we
moved away when I was a mere lad. I've often heard my father speak about
it. He was a trader there in the early days."
"May I see your father to-night?" asked Harold eagerly. "He may be able
to save me a trip over. Where does he live?"
"He is not living. He and Mother both died a few years after coming to
America. The climate was too severe for them."
"I beg your pardon," apologized Harold. "I didn't know. I'm so anxious
to get news of this man that I rush in where angels would fear to
tread."
"That is perfectly all right. It's no more than natural that you should
think he would be able to help you in your search."
"Yes. He could have doubtless given me valuable information concerning
the traders of his day, and thus have put me on the trail of my client.
This man was arrested on some charge trumped up by two scamps, but was
later released and exonerated. They'd arrest a man over there for
looking at his own watch if he happened to cross his eyes while doing
it. At the time when my client was in trouble the convict-ships were in
business."
The Elder dropped back from the edge of his chair which he had held
since the beginning of the conversation. He gave his son a look of dumb
appeal. With an effort he straightened and glared vacantly across the
table.
"I was aboard the convict-ship _Success_ while she was in the New York
harbor this spring," commented the minister. "I don't see how civilized
men could think out so many different modes of torture and remain
civilized, let alone human."
"Nor I. I was aboard the old tub, too. That was the ship my client was
on. It was when she first came out."
The Elder was acting queerly.
"Dad, what's wrong?" asked Harold, with concern.
"Nothing,--er--nothing. Only I do wish you would not take this trip.
Can't you send some one else?"
"I'm afraid not. You see, I'm not my own boss. No, Dad, I can't get out
of it."
Harold had never seen his father so concerned for his welfare, and it
greatly affected him.
"They won't trouble me, not in the least. To ease your mind I'll go
under an assumed name, if you say so. But I must get my data at the
source concerning this man Adoniah Phillips, if----"
The Elder was sipping his coffee, and his cup fell into the saucer with
a crash, breaking both fragile pieces into fragments. The contents were
sprayed over the linen, and drops stained the Elder's white waistcoat.
"Father!" cried Elizabeth. "What is the matter? You are ill!"
He did not answer. He turned an ashen face toward Mr. McGowan, and with
a wild stare studied that young man's face. The two men sprang to the
old man's assistance, but as the minister reached out his hand Mr. Fox
gave a startled cry and threw up his arm as though to ward off a blow.
"Go back to your seats!" ordered the Elder thickly. "Do not mind me. I'm
all right, or shall be in a few seconds."
He fought helplessly for self-control.
"Come, Dad, you must go to your room," declared Harold, taking his
father tightly by the arm.
"I'm not ill, sir," answered the father, stubbornly. "But it might be as
well for me to retire from the table. You need not trouble, Mr.
McGowan. I shall get on quite well with my son's assistance," he
affirmed, waving the minister back.
Mr. Fox drew his handkerchief across his perspiring forehead, and
dazedly eyed the stained cloth. "I'm sorry, Beth, very sorry I was so
awkward."
"Don't mind the cloth, Father," begged the girl tearfully.
"You remain with Mr. McGowan, Beth. I shall soon be quite myself.
Fainting spell, I guess."
Harold led his father from the room. Elizabeth turned to the minister.
"Oh, Mr. McGowan! Is it--do you think----Oh! I can't say it! It's too
awful!"
"We must telephone for the doctor at once. It may be serious."
"Then, you do think it's a stroke! What shall we do!"
Mr. McGowan telephoned for the doctor, and when he arrived he sent him
at once to the Elder's room. The physician entered unannounced, stopped
short on the threshold, and stared at the two men who were in the midst
of a heated discussion.
Elizabeth met the doctor as he came down the stair.
"Miss Fox, will you be kind enough to tell me if your father has had bad
news, or sudden grief?"
"Not that I know of, Doctor. Harold had just told him that he must start
for Australia to-morrow when Father nearly fainted. That is all that
happened."
"Then, I see no occasion for this. There is nothing organically wrong so
far as I can discover. But I shall take his blood pressure to-morrow
just to be on the safe side. Call me any time during the night if
anything out of the ordinary happens. Keep him perfectly quiet. Good
night."
Harold called Elizabeth from the head of the stair.
"Excuse me, Mr. McGowan. I shall send my brother right down."
"Please, don't do that. Your father will need you both. I shall be
going."
"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, offering her hand. "You will come again,
very soon, won't you?"
"I shall call in the morning to inquire about your father."
"Thank you. Good night."
"Good night."
Mr. McGowan took his hat from the hall-tree and left the house. As he
walked very slowly through the avenue of trees a strange passage from
the Bible kept tantalizing his attention. "Behold, a shaking, and the
bones came together, bone to his bone.... Then there was no breath in
them.... Then from the four winds the breath came into them, and they
lived."
Half provoked for allowing these words to arouse suspicion, he tried to
cast them out. But the effect of them remained. He had witnessed the
coming together of the dry bones of a past. Were the four winds from the
four corners of the earth to give them life? Had he unwittingly helped
to furnish the dry bones with breath?
He had gone but a short distance when he heard footsteps behind him.