THE MAN WITH ONE EYE.
Charley Barker was up at daylight next day, and after washing the blood
from Tony's face, which was much cut and disfigured, he hurried off to
Swanny to acquaint him with the good news.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Marsh had gone to bed at all, for they were
mourning the loss of their darling, and, on being admitted to the
house, Charley at once acquainted them with what had occurred.
They could scarcely believe in the reality of such joyful tidings, but
started immediately for the undertaker's.
Mr. Barker, as we have said, was a rough-and-ready, fiery sort of man,
who at times did not attempt to restrain his temper.
The father and mother had gone alone to his house, as Charley had
stayed behind to talk with Swanny.
It was about seven o'clock, and Barker was not up.
When he heard a furious ringing at his bell he jumped out of bed in a
passion, saying to his wife, who was also aroused by the noise:
"I'll teach those fools, whoever they are, not to ring my bell as if
the house was on fire, dern me if I don't!"
Advancing to the window, he threw it open, and his temper was not
improved by the rush of cold air, which struck a chill to his bones
after leaving his nice, warm bed a moment before.
"Be-low!" he shouted. "What in thunder do you want?"
The tassel of his nightcap fluttered in the cold blast, and particles
of the crisp, frozen snow flew up in his face.
"Give me my child," replied Mr. Marsh.
"Oh, it's you, Marsh," said the undertaker, in a milder tone. "What's
the use of asking for the body so early? You'll have it in a neat
casket about the middle of the day. I can't work at night, besides, I
didn't know you were in such an all-fired hurry."
"It isn't the body we want, it's the child."
"Comes to the same thing, and you've got to wait."
"Open the door and let us in."
"No, I'm derned if I do. Come at a proper time," growled the undertaker.
"For Heaven's sake, take pity on us!" cried Mrs. Marsh. "Will not a
mother's tears move you?"
"Not by a bucketful, marm."
"If you don't give up Tony, I'll get a warrant and have you arrested,"
roared Mr. Marsh. "Aren't you an inhuman scoundrel? Want to kill him, I
guess, for fear you'll lose the job."
"Kill him! What do you mean? Oh, pshaw, you're both crazy!" replied
Barker, in a tone of deep disgust. "Go home, and don't come fooling
around here no more."
"Look here, Barker," exclaimed Mr. Marsh, "I'll----"
His further utterance was cut short by the sudden and violent slamming
of the window by the irate undertaker, who, after consigning the
interrupters of his repose to perdition, crept once more into bed, and
pulling the clothes round his cold shoulders, prepared to sleep again.
At this moment Charley and Swanny came running up.
"Won't dad let you in?" asked Charley.
"No," replied Mr. Marsh. "This is an outrage. I shall go for an
officer."
"Don't do nothing of the sort. Come in with me at the back door. Pop
ain't to blame; he don't know anything about the stiff coming to life,"
answered Charley.
The rage of Mr. and Mrs. Marsh moderated at once, and they followed
their conductor into the house through the rear. Presently they were
overjoyed at seeing their darling.
Barker was roused, everything was explained, and Tony was carried home
by his anxious parents.
Tommy also sought his domicile, finding his father and mother in the
kitchen.
"If that boy takes to stopping out nights," he heard Mr. Smithers say,
"he can stay away altogether, for what I care."
"You forget," replied his mother, "that it was your injustice and
ungovernable temper that drove him out."
"He's such a fool, madam."
"Can he help being a little soft? Besides, he's quite young yet."
At this juncture Tommy came forward.
"Here I am, mother," he said.
"Where have you been, sir?" demanded Mr. Smithers.
Tommy related the incidents of the night, which were pronounced to be
very wonderful.
"Well, I'll overlook it this time," said his stepfather; "but don't
let it happen again, or I'll take you into the woodshed and welt you
considerable."
Mrs. Smithers caught him in her arms, crying:
"Oh, my darling! I should never have got over it if you had been buried
in that coffin."
"Here, stop that blubbering!" exclaimed Smithers. "Give me another cup
of coffee; I must be off, or I'll be late at the store!" And soon after
he hastened off to the ferry.
There was a ring at the bell. Mrs. Smithers dried her tears, and added:
"See who that is."
Tommy opened the door, and a man, poorly dressed, with a worn
expression on his face, which was weather-beaten and battered, stood on
the stoop.
What made him more remarkable was the fact that he had only one eye. No
attempt was made to conceal the defect, which might have been remedied
by one of glass, and the vacant space made him look even more homely
and ghastly.
"Does Mrs. Smithers reside here?" he inquired, in a voice harsh and
hoarse through drink and exposure to the weather.
"Yes," replied Tommy.
At this moment Mrs. Smithers raised her head, took one long look at
the stranger, and uttering a piercing shriek, would have fallen to the
ground had not Tommy rushed forward and supported her with his arm.
The man with one eye smiled grimly, and showing no outward concern,
stepped into the house, closing the door after him.
"Let go," he said. "Where's the parlor?"
"That door to the left," answered Tommy.
"Open it."
Mrs. Smithers had fainted, but the stranger took her in his arms as if
she had been a child.
"What's your game?" asked Tommy. "That's my mother."
"I know it," was the calm reply.
"Don't touch her, you dirty-looking tramp!" continued Tommy. "How dare
you?"
"Because I am your father, and she is my wife."
At this remarkable and unexpected reply, Tommy opened his eyes wide in
amazement.
"Thought my father was dead?" he said.
"No matter what any of you thought, I am alive and I am here. Open the
door."
There was an air of authority about this man who claimed to be the Mr.
Thompson whom Mrs. Smithers had first married, and Tommy no longer
refused to obey him.
He opened the door of the room in which a good fire was burning, and
the stranger carried the woman in, laying her on a sofa, and chafing
her hands so as to circulate the blood and restore her to consciousness.
Tommy could scarcely realize the fact that this rough, ragged and ugly
man was the father of whom he had heard his mother speak so often.
Young as he was when his father went West--only to die, as was
reported and supposed--he remembered a very different sort of person.
In the course of a few minutes, during which Tommy remained standing
near the closed door, in an awestruck sort of manner, Mrs. Smithers
became herself again.
Her mind was clear, and the passing faintness having gone away, she
looked the stranger in the face.
"Thomas," she said, softly, "what is the meaning of this? I heard from
one of your friends that you were dead."
"All thought me so," he answered. "I was in a wild part of the country,
where I had gone to make money for you and our child----"
A sickly smile overspread her delicate countenance.
"You left me to starve, and the child, too," she interrupted.
"Let that be as it may," he rejoined, "I went away. You can put what
construction you like on my actions."
"Well, go on," she said, in a tone of resignation.
"I'll admit," he continued, "that I was a drunkard and a gambler; but
I wasn't that when I left you. I intended to do you good. A barroom
quarrel nearly resulted in my death. I was badly shot, badly kicked and
lost one of my eyes."
Mrs. Smithers covered her face with her hands, as if she could conjure
up the horrible scene and wished to shut it out.
"How have you been living since?" she asked.
"Heaven only knows. A friendly Indian took care of me till I got well,
and then I waited till I could get square with my enemy."
"And he?"
"I slew him as I would a dog," said the man, Thompson. "He begged for
his life like a whining girl, but I had him in a tight place, and he
died by my hand."
"Horrible!" she muttered.
"Not at all. Didn't he disfigure me? I tell you that out West we
consider ourselves entitled to satisfaction in cases of this kind."
"Why did you come here, Thomas?"
"To see you. I found out that you had married again, and knowing that
you were my property, I thought I could make something out of you."
"Your property?" she repeated.
"Why, certainly. Does not a wife belong to her husband?"
Mrs. Smithers groaned.
"Do you wish to destroy me?" She asked.
"Oh, dear, no! I'll own up that you made a mistake in marrying me--that
I was always a bad husband, and that you were better without than with
me. Further than that, I will confess that I don't blame you for taking
the first chance that offered after you heard of my death, because you
had to keep yourself and the child."
"Then why persecute me, Thomas?" inquired Mrs. Smithers, raising her
moist eyes to his.
"Simply because I think that I can get something out of you. I am poor;
'dead broke' won't express my condition."
"And if you can levy blackmail upon me, you will be satisfied?"
"For a time, yes."