As soon as he arrived at the office of the Banner on the following
morning, Herbert showed Noah Brooks the letter he had received from New
York, and said he had not yet decided whether to accept or decline the
proffer of the position on the New York Argus.
“It is not a matter of salary, Mr. Brooks,” he said, “but the question
of my future. The prospect of an opening in the metropolis is alluring,
yet I dislike the idea of leaving Cleverly.”
“Take your time and do the right thing, Herbert,” said the veteran
editor. “As you are aware, your time with me expired some months ago,
and your further continuance depends entirely upon yourself. I am frank
enough to say that there is not much chance of advancement here.”
A few minutes later the young man left the office for the purpose
of transacting some business with the postmaster of the town. That
official had stepped out for the moment, but his clerk courteously
invited Herbert to take a seat in his private office and await his
return. For a few minutes the young man whiled away the time by idly
turning over the pages of some newspapers that he found upon the
postmaster’s desk. Presently his attention was attracted by the sound
of footsteps in the outside corridor. It was nearly mail time, and
people were assembling for the purpose of receiving their letters and
papers. The board partition between the private office and the outside
room was very thin, and Herbert could hear bits of conversation. He
paid no attention to them at first, but after a while the mention
of his father’s name caused him to prick up his ears in wonder. He
recognized the voices of the two speakers; one was a well-to-do farmer
named Bingham who operated an extensive place just outside of Cleverly;
the other, John Peterson, a wholesale grocer, ranked among the leading
citizens of the town. They were in a secluded corner of the post
office, and after a while their conversation became quite animated.
Bingham was doing most of the talking. He said very earnestly:
“I always liked Dave Harkins, and it has been a standing regret with me
that the mystery of his last days was never cleared up.”
“I have heard a great deal about that,” responded Peterson, “but I have
never been able to get head or tail of the affair. There was a mystery
sure enough, and Harkins died under a cloud; but it was never explained
to me by anyone who was in a position to talk about the matter.”
“Well,” replied the other slowly, “I can’t say that I am an authority
on the subject; yet I know some of the facts. It seems that old man
Black took an unaccountable dislike to Dave Harkins and went to him and
insisted upon the immediate repayment of a loan that he had made some
time previous. Harkins was not supposed to have an extra dollar in the
world. Yet he paid the loan in full the following day. That night--or
rather the night before--Black’s place was broken into and a bundle
of money stolen. Now the curious part of the story is the allegation
that the money which Harkins used to pay off his debt to Black, was the
identical cash that was taken from Black’s desk the night before. That
is the shape the rumors took. For my part I don’t believe it; and yet,
unfortunately, Dave Harkins died before he could set himself straight
with the community. His wife and son have never attempted to clear the
matter up. Probably they are unable to do so. You don’t suppose that
Dave Harkins could have been tempted to take the money, do you?”
“Lord forbid,” rejoined the other, “I believe that he was a thoroughly
honest man; but the thing is to get other people to believe the same
thing. A bit of scandal is a terrible thing; it may start out in the
beginning no bigger than the tip end of a pin; but by the time it gets
through growing it is taller than one of those skyscraping office
buildings in New York. To tell you the truth I dislike to talk about
such things. You are the first man I ever discussed the Harkins case
with. Whenever the subject is brought up--and it has been mentioned to
me once or twice--I always pooh-hooh it.”
“What reminds you of it to-day?” inquired his companion.
“Young Harkins,” was the prompt rejoinder. “I stopped in at the Banner
office to congratulate old man Brooks on the way that young man was
running the paper for him, and he astonished me by the news that young
Harkins was likely to leave him. He’s got an offer to go to New York
and he’s considering it just now. Do you think it is possible, Bingham,
that this story concerning his father affects his standing in the
community?”
“Undoubtedly,” was the quick response. “A thing of that kind will never
die a natural death in a little town like this. It has either got to
be cleared up and ripped out of existence, root and branch, or it will
go on thriving until Gabriel’s trumpet summons the people to another
world.”
“Well,” said the other speaker, “I am glad to know you believed in
Dave Harkins, because I rather liked the man myself.”
“I believed in him as I believe in my life.”
“What do you think of the son?” asked Bingham, after a short pause.
“Why,” said Peterson in his nasal voice; “I kind o’ think he’s a chip
off the old block. I think if he gets a chance he will make good.”
“So do I,” assented Bingham in a hearty voice.
Herbert, seated behind the partition, could stand the strain no longer.
He jumped from his chair and opening the door suddenly, presented
himself to the two men. Their astonishment made them speechless.
Herbert going over to them, put out his two hands and grasping their
hardened palms, he said:
“I have been an unintentional listener to your conversation. I have
heard all that you have said about my father and myself, and I want to
tell you that I am grateful for the belief you have expressed in his
honesty and mine.”
“Don’t mention it,” mumbled Peterson. “I never dreamt you were near by,
or I’d been more cautious in my conversation.”
“I am glad I heard it,” replied Herbert, with glistening eyes. “It
has uncovered the truth for me. I have had an offer from New York. I
hesitated about leaving Cleverly. I like the Banner, and I like the
place; but I find now that my duty is elsewhere. The man who gave
that money to my father left here and went straight to New York. He
has been swallowed up amid millions of other men; but I’ll find him
somewhere and in some way if it takes the rest of my life. I thank you,
gentlemen, for the things you have said. Before I heard them I was in
doubt; now everything is clear to me. My decision is made; I am off to
New York.”
With flushed face and eager step the young man hurried from the
post office and walked rapidly down the main street. Mr. Brooks was
preparing to go to his lunch when Herbert hurried into the Banner
office.
“I’ll see you in about an hour, Herbert,” he said smilingly.
“If you will wait a moment I would like to speak to you now,” replied
Herbert quickly.
“What is it?” asked the other, with an anxious look in his face. “If
it’s about New York I’d like to tell you that you can take your own
time in coming to a decision. Take a week if you need it.”
“I don’t need a minute,” replied Herbert impetuously, “I am grateful to
you for your kindness; but my decision is already made. I am going to
New York, and I am going at the earliest possible moment.”
Mr. Brooks expressed the regret that he felt and then left the young
man. Herbert’s next task was to inform his mother of his decision. He
knew that the change would be a violent one for her, but felt in his
heart that he was only doing his duty to her as well as to the memory
of his dead father. He walked slowly to his home, and when he entered,
found his mother seated in an armchair by the window engaged in some
knitting. He walked into the room on tiptoe, and going back of her,
threw his arms about her neck.
“Mother,” he said softly.
“Well, Herbert,” she replied, in a gentle voice. “What is it?”
“I am going to tell you something that may not be pleasant for you to
hear, and I want you to promise me that you will bear with it for my
sake.”
“What is it?” she asked, with a look of pain on her face.
“Will you promise?” he persisted.
“Yes,” she said, very slowly, but with emphasis. “I’ll promise to be
reconciled to anything that is for your good.”
“Well,” he said after a short pause, “I have come to a decision. I am
going to New York, and I am going within forty-eight hours.”
The tears came to her eyes, but she bravely repressed them, and
arising, took Herbert in her arms and gave him a motherly kiss.
“Bless you, my son,” she said, “and go ahead and do what you believe is
for the best.”
From that time until the moment of his departure Herbert was kept
busy in completing his arrangements for moving to the metropolis. His
chief business was in completing his work for the current issue of the
Banner. When the other persons who were connected with the paper heard
of his prospective departure they were very much disappointed because
Herbert was a general favorite in the office. The young man himself was
so agitated at the thought of leaving those with whom he had been in
contact so long and so pleasantly that he could scarcely get through
with his routine work.
The morning for his departure dawned at last, and he started for the
train with a gripsack in one hand and an umbrella in the other. His
mother accompanied him, and on the way gave him a great deal of homely
advice regarding his future life in the big city. It was understood
that he should go on with his work and if it should prove successful
that later on he would send for his mother and thereafter both of them
would make their home in New York. In the meantime he promised to send
her part of his earnings every week, and in spite of her protests, made
the amount the major part of his salary. On the way to the train they
passed the home of John Black. Mary Black was just coming out of the
doorway, and when she saw the mother and son, joined them on the way to
the station.
“I wish you God-speed, Herbert,” she said, with undoubted sincerity;
“and if you see anything of Arthur it will be a real charity for you to
inform us of the fact. Mother and father are very much distressed over
his absence.”
“Haven’t you heard anything from him since he left?” asked Herbert.
“Yes,” she replied, holding her head down. “He has written to me twice,
each time to ask me for money.”
“And you gave it to him?” inquired Herbert.
“Yes,” she replied. “Perhaps it was wrong; but I could not refuse it.
He did not give any address, but had the mail sent to the General
Delivery window of the main post office building.”
“Well, Mary,” said Herbert, “I assure you that if I am ever in a
position to assist you either in Arthur’s case, or in any other manner,
I will be only too glad to do so.”
They had reached the station by this time, and in a moment or two were
joined by Noah Brooks, who insisted on coming along to say good-by to
his much valued assistant and associate editor.
Brooks was silent for some time, but his face showed the feeling that
he was endeavoring to repress. Going over to Herbert, he put his arm
around his shoulder in an affectionate manner, and said:
“My boy, I have to thank you for the fidelity you have always shown
to my interests. I don’t know what in the world I’ll do without you;
indeed I don’t.”
Just then the train pulled in at the station and Herbert, after a last
good-by, jumped aboard. The engine pulled out quickly, and the young
man standing on the rear platform, shook his handkerchief in farewell
to his mother and friends. As the train gradually put distance between
itself and Cleverly, Herbert was filled with a strange emotion which
he could not understand. He was leaving the home of his birth and his
youth, and his heart was strangely touched at the thought. The train
puffed on, and soon the little group on the station became mere specks
in the distance; but the last thing that Herbert saw was the trim
figure and the two bright eyes, half dimmed with tears, belonging to
Mary Black.