"I didn't," he snapped. "No use talking when you have a mooning fit on."
"I am listening, dear. What is it?"
"Here's a letter from the old man. He wants Donald. You can see for
yourself what he says."
Glendon handed her the letter, allowing it to drop from his fingers
purposely, watching her as she reached down and picked it up.
As she read, a grey pallor spread over her face, making it look old and
haggard.
J. M. Glendon, Jr.
Circle Cross Ranch, Arizona.
_Dear Sir:_
From reliable sources I have learned of your conduct since you went
to Arizona, and understand that my ambition to see my son a man
among men will never be gratified; nor will your influence or
example make such a man of my grandson, Donald. The full
realization of this has prompted me to break my determination never
to communicate with you again on any subject.
Your wife is too egotistical and assertive, and her influence over
the boy cannot fail to be detrimental. Women have no idea how to
bring up a boy, especially college-bred women with their fads and
theories. They have no judgment outside of flattery; they are all
fools,--I do not care where you go, or who the woman may be,--and
the man who tries to please a woman's whims is a fool.
My lawyer tells me that under the laws of Arizona you are absolute
guardian of your child; so the decision as to my offer rests
entirely with you. Your wife, legally, has no voice in the matter
of selecting a school or any other arrangements you may see fit to
make. It is time for you to assert yourself.
I will take Donald and educate him, provided he is given to me
absolutely until he is of age, but I will not allow any
interference with him or my plans for him. I will see that he does
not grow up with any sickly, sentimental ideas, but to weigh his
own interests first, without illusions about life or women. He
will be taught that all women are inferior in intellect and reason,
weak in moral force and must be treated accordingly. If he is sent
to me, I will see that he is provided for during my lifetime, and
at my death he will receive what you have forfeited by your own
conduct.
I have selected a school for him which he can attend from my house,
and where he will receive the training I consider necessary to make
him the kind of man I desire. An immediate answer will oblige.
Yours truely, J. M. GLENDON, SR.
The pages fluttered to the floor of the porch, and then Donnie looked up
startled at the tone of his mother's voice, when she said, "Run away and
play with Tatters, dear."
With a hasty caress, the boy, followed by the dog, moved slowly toward
the front gate.
"Well," Glendon's irritable tones sounded in her ears, "how soon can you
get him ready?"
"Let me keep him a little longer, Jim," pleaded the mother. "He's only a
baby yet."
"He's going on seven," retorted Glendon. "You've always been harping on
wanting him to have a good education. Now you've got your wish, I don't
see what kick you've got coming. I'll never have money enough to send
him away to school unless the old man helps me more than he has done the
last five years."
Curbing her inclination to remind him bitterly that other men who were
not drinking, but attending to their ranches and stock, were able to
afford schools for their children, she said, "It has been my ambition
ever since he was born, but there are other things more important to his
character that I can teach him in the next two years."
Glendon lighted a cigarette and an ugly sneer distorted his lips, "Want
to tie him to your apron-strings, the way you had me tied? Fine mess
you've made of it for me! If you hadn't been so high-headed with my
folks, I never would have left home to come to this God-forsaken hole
and bury myself alive!"
"I hoped it would strengthen you, help you conquer yourself if we came
away from companions who dominated you back there; but I was wrong. All
your better instincts are dead and there is nothing left between us in
common. Jim, if ever you had any love in your heart for me, don't send
Donnie away just now. Have you forgotten that prisoners go mad from
solitary confinement?"
"Your dramatics are wasted on me! I intend to be master in my own home.
Father shall have the boy if he wishes, and I hope he will knock some of
those fool ideas you have been putting into Donnie's head lately.
They'll mould his character into something practical."
"They do not understand children," Katherine's voice trembled, "your
father means well, but Donnie would learn to be a hypocrite through fear
of him, or it would break the child's heart. When Donnie is older, he
would understand better."
"Go ahead!" Glendon's lip lifted one side of his mouth and gave him the
appearance of a dog snarling. His bloodshot eyes glared at his wife. "I
say the boy shall go. That settles it!"
"You shall not take him from me," Katherine spoke passionately as she
rose and faced her husband, who had also risen. "He is mine! For his
sake I have endured the isolation of this place, the curses and abuse
you have heaped upon me, the degradation that I saw facing you. I have
not been blind to the class of men you associate with now, but I
struggled to keep you from sinking lower, just because you were the
father of my boy. The last eight years of my life have been continual
mental starvation and moral crucifixion. Donnie has given me the
strength to bear it, now he will give me the strength to keep you from
robbing me of him!"
"You may as well stop your hysterical ranting," Glendon shouted
furiously. "The law gives the boy to me, and I say he shall go to father
next week."
"The law gives the child to the father," her voice quivered with
indignation, "No matter what that father may be; while the mother, who
goes down to death to give the child life, has no right! Oh, it is
infamous! Why, even the wild animals recognize a mother's rights. Men
who frame such a law and enforce it are worse than brutes!"
Glendon seized her arm roughly and glared into her white, defiant face,
his own was livid with rage. "Nothing on God's earth can prevent Donnie
from going."
"He shall not go!" her voice became suddenly quiet and determined, and
her eyes met Glendon's without flinching. "You owe him to me in return
for the things of which you have robbed us both. He has never had a
father, never dared to laugh like other children do, because he was
afraid of you. I will not never give him up to you or any one else. He
is mine!"
Glendon thrust her away from him with such violence that she staggered.
"I have the law back of me and I'll do what I say, if I have to walk
over your dead body to do it!"
He flung himself into the house, knocking over a chair as he passed it;
then a bottle clinked against a glass.
The leaves of the magazine at the woman's feet, fluttered in the breeze
while she stared with despairing eyes at the grim mountains that walled
her like a prison.