WITH HIM
News travels quickly in a small town. Before breakfast the following
morning it was very generally reported that John Black had been robbed,
and that he was going to issue a warrant for the arrest of David
Harkins. The report shocked most of those who heard it. John Black was
a hard man, and more than one of the citizens of Cleverly had felt the
force of his iron hand.
He worked incessantly, and never spent a penny unless it was absolutely
necessary. Such a man may be considered just; but he is bound to be
unpopular. David Harkins, on the contrary, was well liked by all who
knew him. He was on the best of terms with his neighbors, and always
had time for a kind word to everyone he met--man, woman and child.
The people therefore were disposed to suspend judgment until they had
heard both sides of the story. While David Harkins was at the table
Horace Coke drove up, and asked to have a minute’s conversation. As
soon as they were alone he said hastily:
“Have you heard the rumors?”
“I have,” responded Harkins, “and I consider them scandalous. I wonder
where such malicious stories could originate?”
“That’s easily told,” replied the lawyer. “They come from no less a
person than John Black.”
“How dare he say such things!” exclaimed Harkins with passion.
For answer the lawyer told him the details of his interview with the
banker and the singular likeness between the banknotes that had been
stolen and the money which had been used to pay off the note.
David Harkins listened in astonishment, and when Coke had concluded,
said:
“But even that doesn’t justify Black in slandering me.”
“Certainly not; but you must agree that the coincidence is not only
remarkable, but could be construed as suspicious.”
“But my part of the transaction was perfectly straight.”
“I’m sure of that,” responded Coke with fervor, “and that’s why I’m
here this morning. Let me state the case in a nutshell. You have been
foolish enough to make an enemy of a powerful and wealthy man. You have
borrowed money of him. He demands the payment of the money from you in
the belief that you are penniless and cannot comply with his demand.
His house is entered and robbed of a thousand dollars. The next morning
you pay him a thousand dollars in bills identical to those stolen from
him.”
“But there are thousands of such bills in circulation.”
“True; but the thing for you to do is to shut the mouth of gossip at
once. That can be done in a very simple manner. All you have to do is
to prove what is known in the law as an alibi. Tell where you got the
money and produce the man who gave it to you.”
Harkins shook his head sadly at this.
“Your suggestion seems simple enough; but I fear I cannot comply with
it.”
“Why not?” in manifest astonishment.
“Because it was given to me in confidence and with the understanding
that the name of the donor should not be divulged.”
“But it came from a friend?”
“One of the best I have in the world.”
“Well, he would surely not permit you to rest under a shadow for the
sake of a foolish promise. Go to him at once and get a release from
your pledge to silence.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late,” said Harkins gravely. “He was to start for
England this very day. However, your advice is good. I’ll hire a team
and try to reach him. If I succeed I will report to you this afternoon.”
As soon as Mr. Coke departed, Herbert made an effort to tell his father
the story of his indiscretion in listening at the doorway on the
occasion of the midnight visit of the mysterious stranger. But once
again Mr. Harkins was too busy to stop and listen, and father and son
parted without that exchange of confidence which would have done so
much to clear up an embarrassing situation. Mr. Harkins went to the
nearest livery stable and soon had a one-horse buggy harnessed and
ready for the road. He told no one his destination, but whipping up the
horse, passed down the main streets, out into the outskirts of the town
and was soon lost to view.
It was late in the afternoon when he returned, and then the wheels
of the carriage were covered with mud and the horse was covered with
lather as if he had traveled far and fast that day. There was a
careworn look about David Harkins’ eyes and a drooping of the lips that
betokened disappointment. He drove back over the same streets whence he
had taken his departure in the morning, nodding pleasantly to several
acquaintances he passed on the way.
Just when he was in sight of the livery stable, a sudden gust of wind
raised a cloud of dust that blinded animals and pedestrians alike. This
was followed by another, and the second squall carried in its wake a
batch of old newspapers and sent them eddying about in the air like
some strange craft in a whirlpool. One of the papers struck the horse
square in the eye. The animal, already frightened by the wind and dust,
raised up on its haunches and gave a shrill neigh. Harkins grasping
the reins tightly, pulled it down to earth again. But the moment the
horse’s feet struck the ground it darted off like a flash and went
tearing down the street at an insane gait. The driver kept cool and
self contained. Standing on the floor of the carriage and leaning over
the dashboard he pulled at the lines with all his strength.
Just when he felt that the animal was being brought into subjection,
the lines gave a snap and broke, leaving him thrown back on the seat
with two useless bits of leather in his hand. He was as helpless as
a seaman without a rudder, or more so. The horse released from the
grasp of the driver, redoubled its speed and kept on its way like mad.
Harkins, now alarmed, considered the advisability of jumping out of
the vehicle in order to avert a worse fate. But while he was debating
the situation the horse solved it for him. Coming to a cross street it
swerved in its furious career and turned the corner. The suddenness of
the move swung the buggy from one side of the street to the other, and
on its rebound it struck an iron lamp-post, smashing the frail vehicle
to pieces and throwing David Harkins head first on to the sidewalk.
A crowd collected immediately and several men hurried to the assistance
of the stricken man. He was insensible, and his breath came in short,
sharp gasps. A stretcher was procured, and he was carried to his
home. A physician was telephoned for, and he arrived at the home
simultaneously with the men who were carrying the prostrate form. The
doctor worked unceasingly for nearly an hour, and at the end of that
time announced that his patient must have absolute quiet and that no
one must attempt to speak to him for the present.
Horace Coke, who had arrived at the house, was very much distressed
over the accident and showed especial pain over the doctor’s order.
“Doctor,” he said, “couldn’t I ask him one question?”
“My dear sir,” answered the physician pityingly, “you can do as you
please; but the instant you or anyone else disobeys my orders I will
give this case up and will not answer for the consequences.”
“Is it that bad?” asked the lawyer.
“It couldn’t be worse,” replied the doctor; “he only regained
consciousness a few minutes ago. I succeeded in putting him into a
light slumber. If he rests undisturbed for an hour I may save his life.”
Herbert slipped quietly out of the room while the two men were speaking.
“He is still sleeping,” he said to the doctor.
The doctor shot a sharp glance at the boy.
“I hope you didn’t attempt to speak to him,” rather sternly.
“Certainly not,” replied Herbert, flushing up at this reflection upon
his good sense. Slowly, slowly, the minutes ticked by.
A few of the neighbors remained in the parlor. The doctor and Mrs.
Harkins alone remained in the sick room. A half hour elapsed. It began
to look as if the life might be saved.
Presently the door opened and a young girl attired in a dark suit
entered the room. Although youthful, she had the air of restfulness
usually found only in persons of more mature years. She had great black
eyes now full of sympathy with those in the room. Her dark, glossy hair
parted in the middle, emphasized the extreme whiteness of her broad
forehead. This was Mary Black, daughter of the banker, and sister of
Arthur Black. She glanced about the apartment until her glance rested
upon Herbert, and going up to him, put her hand in his with such
frankness and tenderness as to bring tears to his eyes. He stepped to
one side of the room. She was the first to speak.
“Herbert, I feel for you very, very much,” she said in a low, melodious
voice. “Mother would not rest until I had come over here to inquire how
your father was getting on. Indeed we all feel for you and your mother
very much. Father was anxious also.”
She was quick to see that Herbert’s face clouded up at the mention of
her father, and hastened to add:
“That is what I wished to speak about particularly. I know that your
father and my father had words; but I can assure you that there is no
ill feeling on father’s part now. I talked with him long and earnestly,
and he finally consented to permit me to come over here and say this to
your father. The moment he is able to see anyone, I want to tell him
this.”
“You are an angel,” murmured Herbert. “I don’t thank your father for
this visit, but I am very, very grateful to you.”
Just then Mrs. Harkins stepped out of the room, and Mary made haste to
repeat to her what she had already told Herbert. The face of the older
woman softened at the kind words that were poured into her ears, and in
a moment the girl and the mother were in each other’s arms, indulging
in one of those crys which do so much to relieve the tension of grief
and sorrow.
But Mary Black did not waste much time in useless tears. She quickly
dried her eyes, and turning to Mrs. Harkins, said with energy:
“Now, I’m going to make myself useful; tell me what to do first.”
Mrs. Harkins smiled through her tears at this manifestation of
industry. But she felt relieved to know that feminine hands and
feminine eyes would be in charge of her house while she remained at
the bedside of her stricken husband. Mary Black, during that hour of
anxiety and for many days afterward, proved herself a genuine angel of
mercy. Those who gazed at her knew that while her nature was kind and
gentle she was yet resolute and determined.
The minutes went by and those who were assembled in the outer room
kept anxious watch on the door leading to the sick chamber. All
instinctively realized that a crisis was at hand, and that it was to
be decided very shortly. Presently there was a movement within and the
doctor came out, supporting Mrs. Harkins on his shoulder. A hush went
over the little circle.
“What is it, doctor?” asked Mr. Coke, voicing the question that hung
unspoken on the lips of all the others.
The doctor looked at his questioner in silence for a moment, and then
said impressively:
“He is dead!”
A convulsive sob from the newly made widow brought Mary Black and some
of the neighbors to her side in an instant. While they were leading the
weeping woman up to her room, the doctor noted the questioning look in
Mr. Coke’s eyes.
“It came very suddenly,” he said; “all was over in an instant. He died
without opening his lips.”
Herbert, who was standing in the rear of the room unobserved, heard
this with blanched face and parched throat. He realized that the death
of his father marked an epoch in his life. He felt that he had lost his
dearest friend. Yet the tears would not come to his strained, glassy
eyes. He was amazed that his heart beat on as before. All that he was
conscious of was a strange, unnatural feeling of numbness.