OUR HERO FINDS A FATHER.
Shortly after Van and Poppet arrived at the latter's house, a messenger
came in, stating that the president of the city board would like an
audience with the visiting strangers.
"We will get ready and go at once," said Poppet. "The president, who is
a cripple, is an American, and no doubt he would be glad to see some of
his own countrymen."
"We are not all Americans," spoke up Jack Howard; "three of us are
English, you know."
"Four," added Joe. "My parents were born in England."
"Well, two of us are natives of the United States," said Van; "and so we
will be very glad to see the president."
"So will we," exclaimed Jack. "I think just as much of America as any
other nation on the face of the globe."
"I think enough of her to give all I am worth if I was only back there
now," observed Lank Edwards. "I've got a wife an' three children waitin'
for me in ther land of ther free, an' I am wery anxious ter git home
again, I kin tell you!"
A far-away look came into the eyes of the honest-hearted mate, which
caused his companions to change the subject.
In a few minutes they were ready to go to the president of the African
Utopia, and with Poppet at their head, they set out.
As the city was very small, as was before stated, it did not take them
long to reach the president's office, which was situated in the most
pretentious building in the city.
Without any preliminaries whatever, our friends were ushered in.
They beheld a pleasant-faced man of middle age seated in a huge
armchair, and when he arose to greet them they saw he was minus a leg.
Poppet introduced them as the six visiting strangers, but when the
president had shaken them by the hand, he requested them to write their
names in the book of new arrivals, so he might know their names.
Each one complied with the reasonable request, and then the man looked
over the names.
When he came to our hero's signature he started as though he had
received an electric shock.
"Which one of you is Van Vincent?" he asked, in a strange, unnatural
voice.
"I am," replied Van, stepping forward.
The president gazed at the boy for fully five minutes before he again
spoke, and it was plain to be seen that he was undergoing a great deal
of excitement.
"I would speak to you alone," he at length said. "Your friends will
please excuse us for a short time."
"While you are engaged I will show our friends through the city
building," spoke up Poppet.
"Very well, if all are satisfied."
The next minute Van Vincent and the president of the strange city were
alone in the room.
"So your name is Van Vincent," said the crippled man, gazing at our hero
in a curious manner.
"It is," was the reply.
"Where were you born?"
Van quickly told him.
"Your mother is dead, is she not?"
"Yes," replied the boy, gazing at him in surprise. "My father is, too.
He died somewhere in Africa, I believe."
"No, he did not!"
"What!" exclaimed Van. "Did you know him?"
"I did, and do now."
"Where is he, then? Won't you take me to him?"
"He stands before you, my boy. I am your father!"
Had a bombshell exploded, Van could not have been more astounded.
Was it possible that he had found his father in the heart of the Dark
Continent?
It seemed scarcely probable, and yet, as he gazed at the man before him,
he felt that it was certainly true.
With a coolness that was remarkable under the circumstances, the
president drew a time-worn pocketbook from his pocket.
Opening it, he drew forth three small photographs.
"There," said he, handing them to Van, "is the likeness of myself, and
also those of my family, when I had been two years married."
As Van gazed at the pictures a mist came before his eyes, and he was
forced to catch the back of a chair for support.
The photos were those of a young man and woman, and an infant of
probably a year old.
But this was not what caused Van to act so strangely. He carried
duplicates of those very pictures in his pockets.
The man and woman were his father and mother, and the infant was
himself.
That settled the whole business.
Father and son were united after years of separation.
"But, father," said Van, after both had somewhat recovered from their
excitement, "how was it that you never came home?"
"It was impossible for me to make the attempt, my boy. Through the
treachery of one of my own party, I lost my left leg just before I
reached the gate of this wonderful city.
"I was picked up by the Utopians, and nursed back to health and
strength, and then, knowing the terrible dangers I had passed through in
order to reach this place, I agreed to live with them always, since it
would be naught but suicide for me to start for the coast alone,
crippled as I was.
"Your mother was dead, and you were in the care of my brother, whom I
knew would take proper care of you, and so I tried to content myself
here, and have succeeded very well, though many is the time I have
thought of home and found the hot tears streaming down my face."
"You say you lost your leg through the treachery of one of your own
party," said Van. "Tell me how it happened, won't you?"
"I will do that in a few words, my son. It was this way: The party I was
leading on my tour of discovery had dwindled down to eleven men--six
whites and five blacks.
"All, save one besides myself, had often declared that they would travel
no further, but, under our persuasion, they would again start out.
"I began to notice that the fellow who took sides with me had more
control over the men than I did, but thought nothing of it until one
day, when I gave orders to resume our march, after eating dinner.
"It was then that the man I trusted deliberately drew his rifle to his
shoulder and shot me; and then without a word they started over the back
trail, leaving me lying bleeding upon the ground.
"The man who did that was a cousin of yours, Van. His name was John
Moreland."
"What!" gasped Van. "Why, the scoundrel is in the city this very moment.
He is the prisoner who is confined in the cell."
Then it was the elder Vincent's turn to be surprised.
Van now proceeded to relate all that had happened since his uncle's
murder, and his father was deeply interested in the recital of the
story.
"Well, my son," said he, after a rather long interval of silence, "John
Moreland, or Doc Clancy, as you call him, will surely be executed, and
after that happens I shall endeavor to work things so I shall be able to
leave this beautiful country and go back with you to the land of our
birth. And now you had better return to your friends and tell them that
you have found a father. I will arrange things in my house this
afternoon, and you and your companions will be my guests as long as you
remain in the city."
Van now left his father and started to hunt up Jack Howard and the rest.
He soon learned that they had gone to take a look about the ancient
though beautiful city, and taking the direction they had gone, he
started to find them.
The boy was so elated and full of joy at the miraculous finding of his
father, that he hardly noticed anything as he walked along.
Just as he was passing a fine-looking edifice, he was startled by the
shrill scream of a female in distress.
In a moment Van's chivalric nature was aroused, and he turned his eyes
in the direction the cry came from.
By the side of the building he beheld a beautiful girl struggling in the
arms of a powerful-looking man.
Quick as a flash, Van leaped over the low fence in front of the house
and rushed to the spot.
The girl was doing her best to get away from the man, who now held his
hand tightly over her mouth to prevent her from screaming.
The next instant our hero's fist shot out and the brute staggered and
fell to the ground.