The door between Ruth's office and the president's office was slightly
ajar. She could hear the suppressed voices of Stover and another man.
She caught a sentence that caused her to leave her desk and tiptoe to
the door. She stood with her ear near the opening.
Ruth had a high sense of honor. She would have been the last one
to eavesdrop through idle curiosity. The sentence which she caught
convinced her the conversation taking place on the other side of the
door concerned her indirectly, if not directly, and she felt warranted
in listening.
She listened with bated breath while the color left her cheeks. She
opened and shut her hands nervously.
When the conversation ceased and Stover's caller left she sat down
to her desk and wrote a note. She looked at her watch; it was almost
quitting time. She stepped to the president's office. "Is there
anything more tonight?"
"No, Ruth, nothing more tonight. You may go if you wish to."
She went back into her room, tore up the lengthy note that she had
written and wrote a very brief one. After she had placed this in an
envelope and addressed it, she put on her hat and went out on the
street.
She had walked but a short way from the bank when she met a small boy.
"Say, boy, will you deliver this note for me?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She gave him a dime and he hurried away on his errand.
Harold King had seen but little of Ruth in the last two weeks. He had
been busy getting up a perspective and plans to submit to the mayor and
commissioners. He had seen Ruth a couple of times lately in ice cream
parlors with Golter. That afternoon Harold had submitted his drawing
and plans. Now that he had submitted them he wondered if anything would
come of it. The architect's fee would be fifteen thousand dollars for
this city job. If he could just land that his financial embarrassment
would be relieved and he would be sufficiently advertised to get other
good jobs. He had been three years in Wilford Springs, and had barely
made a living. There had been many expensive buildings erected since
he came, but out-of-town architects had been employed. Sometimes he
had been discouraged and felt a desire to seek a new location, but his
friend, Charles Wilson, would always tell him at such times: "Stay with
it and things will come your way; just keep a stiff upper lip. When you
get a job, no matter how little it is, do your best and some day the
big jobs will be running after you." Harold was inclined to question
this philosophy, but nevertheless it encouraged him somewhat.
Ruth Babcock had had a large place in his thoughts since he had met her
two years before. He admired her and was sure if he would allow himself
to he would love her--but what right did he have to allow himself to
fall in love with a girl when he couldn't properly provide for his own
needs!
He had felt bitter pangs of jealousy when he had seen Ruth with Golter.
He didn't blame her for accepting the attentions of someone who had an
income sufficient to take her out in public and properly entertain her,
one who had a right to entertain thoughts of love and matrimony--but he
didn't like this man Golter and wished that she would not keep company
with him. Golter was a snob and in no sense a man that appealed to men,
but deep down in his heart Harold knew that he would be unhappy to see
Ruth escorted by any man. If he wasn't so poverty stricken he wouldn't
stand back for anyone. His best suit was hardly decent to appear in
at social affairs. He would not, in his present condition, embarrass
Ruth by asking her to accompany him any place, but maybe fortune would
soon smile on him. If he landed the city job and the fifteen thousand
dollars, things would be different. His reverie was interrupted by a
small boy who entered the office and asked, "This Mr. King?"
"Yes."
"Here's a letter for you. A young lady sent it to you."
"Was she good looking?" asked Harold, smiling.
"You bet yer life. She's a peach."
"Well, I'm interested. What do I owe you?"
"How'd a dime be?"
"All right." Harold tossed him the coin.
As he was going out the door he stopped and looked back. "Say, mister,
the girl had done give me one dime, but I thought you'd want to go
fifty-fifty with her." He hurried down the stairway without waiting for
a reply.
As Harold tore the letter open he thought, "That boy may land in the
penitentiary, but his chances to escape the poor house are good.
However, I am inclined to believe I would be willing to go fifty-fifty
with Ruth in a life partnership, but the one great obstacle is I can't
furnish my fifty."
The letter was brief but interesting:
Dear Mr. King:
I would like to have a talk with you. If it will not greatly
inconvenience you I would be pleased to have you call at my home this
evening.
Yours truly,
Ruth Babcock.
"There is nothing to do but to go, if I do have to wear the old suit,"
he thought. He tried to conjecture what it could be that she wanted to
talk to him about. Maybe she had some suggestion to help him secure
the city job. Her employer, Jim Stover, was regarded as the political
boss of the town and whatever he said went with the city officials.
He was quite sure Ruth was going to make a suggestion to help him to
secure Stover's assistance. Wilson had already talked with Stover in
his interest but had not secured a definite answer.
That evening Harold got out his best suit and brushed it thoroughly. It
was badly worn. When he had dressed he viewed himself in the mirror.
"Harold, old boy," he said to himself, "there is no mistaking the fact
you are run-down, you look seedy. You need a new casing but will have
to make out with the old one for awhile."
As Harold walked down the street to the car line he met Golter. Harold
noticed his well groomed appearance. When they spoke, the supercilious
smirk on Golter's face nettled Harold.
"Come in, Mr. King. Let me have your hat. Ruth ran over to a
neighbor's. She said if you called before she returned to tell you that
she would be back in a few minutes."
"How are you, Mr. Babcock? I believe you are looking better."
"If I could only get over having this pain in my head. Sometimes I do
not have it for two or three days and then it will come back and I
suffer terribly. I worry lots, Mr. King, because I can't remember my
business affairs before I was hurt."
"It may come to you some time."
"I hope so. Not long ago in my dream I remembered the rest of the safe
combination."
"Are you sure that was really your safe combination?"
"Yes, positive of it. I had remembered all but the last number before
the dream."
"Did you remember anything else besides the combination?"
"Yes, I dreamed that I showed the combination to a man in whom I had
confidence and that he stole the money."
"Whose money was in the safe, Mr. Babcock?"
"My money."
"Are you sure you had money?"
"Yes, I have always remembered that."
"You say you dreamed that you showed the combination to a man in whom
you had confidence?"
"Yes, I trusted him. The dream was very real."
"Can you remember anything about this man's appearance or what his
business was or his connection with you?"
"No, I have been trying for days to remember who he was but have not
been able to."
At this juncture Ruth came in and the subject was dropped. Soon after,
the door opened and Clara Babcock started to enter, but seeing there
was company present, hesitated.
"Come on in, Aunt Clara," said Ruth.
The four visited together for a time. When Ruth's father and aunt had
left the room Ruth asked, "Were you surprised to get my note?"
"Yes, I was somewhat surprised," he replied.
"I first wrote you what I wanted to tell you but afterwards decided
that I could tell you better; so I tore up the letter I had written you
and wrote the note asking you to come."
"I was pleased to come, and if I can be of any service to you I will
only be too glad to help you."
"Harold," she spoke in a low, soft voice, "I did not ask you to come
here because I needed your help."
He felt a little twinge of disappointment. He would like to have her
look to him for help and be able to help her. The only time he had
attempted to help her he had failed.
"I asked you to come because I wanted to help you."
His pride was hurt. He thought she was beginning to pity him. Pity is
not relished by a strong, self-respecting man. He became conscious of
his run-down condition. He would not have been much surprised if she
had offered to loan him money to buy a new suit of clothes. He wished
he was away.
"You know," she continued, "I think that friends should always guard
the interests of each other and, Harold, if I should need advice or
assistance I do not know of anyone, outside of my father, whom I would
rather trust than you." He felt better.
"I hope I may always be worthy of your confidence," he said.
"What I have to say concerns you directly, and it concerns me because
you are my friend. I know that I can trust you not to tell the source
of your information."
"Certainly you can."
"This afternoon I was seated in my office with the door slightly ajar.
There was someone in the president's office talking with Mr. Stover.
I am not sure who the man was, but from the quality of his voice I
believe it was McBryan. I heard this man say 'Harold King is one of
them.' I moved close to the door that I might hear better. Mr. Stover
asked, 'Are you sure of that?'"
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'Yes, I am positive. We have a man who is a member of the
Klan, who gave us this information.'"
"Did he say who it was?"
"No, the man to whom Stover talked----"
"I'm sure that it was McBryan," said Harold, interrupting her.
"This man said, 'we'll fix this young upstart.'" Harold clenched his
teeth and hands. He felt the muscles of his arms tighten. "Mr. Stover
said, 'let's give him one chance.' 'What do you propose?' the other
asked. I could not hear what Mr. Stover said as he dropped his voice to
a whisper."
"What else did they say?"
"That was all I heard except the man said, 'I'll keep you informed.'"
"You are sure he said that he got his information from a member of the
Klan?"
"Yes, positive."
"So they are going to fix the 'young upstart,' are they?"
"Mr. Stover did not say that; it was the other man who said it. Mr.
Stover said, 'Let's give him another chance.'"
"I thank you, Ruth, for this information."
"Harold," she said, laying her hand gently on his arm, "I hope you can
prove that you are not a member of this organization."
"Didn't you say the principles were all right?"
"Yes, but so many claim that a lawless element belongs."
"Ruth, you know that hatred and prejudice will cause people to make
bitter accusations which they cannot prove and which have no basis in
fact. Enrolled as members of the Klan are ministers, lawyers, judges,
congressmen, governors. Do you believe that officers who have taken
an oath to support the government and enforce its laws and who have
always been law-abiding citizens would become and remain members of an
outlaw organization? I tell you, Ruth, the Klan is composed of many of
the best citizens and its purpose is to uphold and enforce law--not to
violate it."
"I suppose that is true, but somehow I can't help but hope you do not
belong and that if necessary you can prove that you do not. I hardly
know, after what you have told me about the Klan, why I should feel
this way unless it is because I am your friend and interested in you
and do not want you to do anything that will injure your chances for
success in the business world or subject you to worry and persecution."
"I appreciate your consideration for me, but, Ruth, if the issues
are as vital as I believe they are and the United States needs an
organization of this character to protect our American institutions and
our Christian civilization would you want me to refuse my support for
fear of personal consequences?" As he asked this question, his gray
eyes looked straight into her brown ones.
"Excuse me a moment," she said and left the room. She soon returned
with two portraits. "This," she said, handing him one of the pictures,
"is a portrait of Colonel Jameson, a Virginian, who was an officer in
the Confederate army, and a member of the old Ku Klux Klan. He was my
mother's father; and this is a picture of Major Babcock of General
Sherman's staff, who was my father's father. Both of these men fought
at the risk of their lives and at the sacrifice of personal interests
for principles they believed to be right. On both sides of the house
ancestors fought in the wars of 1812 and the Revolution. My family had
a part in making this nation. Not only did the men of the Jameson and
Babcock families fight, but the women folk sent them forth to battle
in the spirit of love and sacrifice. The blood of these ancestors
are in my veins. If the institutions and laws of our country and the
sacred principles of Americanism are imperiled I ask you to do your
duty courageously as becomes the man that I know you are." They were
standing now, and as she made this speech he met her steady gaze
unflinchingly. He slipped his arm about her and for a moment neither
spoke. There are moments when speech is inadequate.
The following morning at the breakfast table in the Babcock home Mr.
Babcock remarked, "You know that the more I see of that Mr. King the
more favorably I am impressed with him. He strikes me as a man who has
good stuff in him."
"Looks to me like he's kind of run-down at the heel--as mother used to
say," said Aunt Clara. "He sure isn't prosperous looking like that Mr.
Golter. In this day and age it's mighty essential that a man have money
or a good income when he gets married or his wife can't have a place of
any consequence in society."
Ruth blushed but made no reply. Her father noticed her embarrassment
and said, "Ruth, money has its place in life, but character is the big
thing."