Ruth was proud that her friend, Harold King, had courageously turned
his back on the proposition that would have meant the prostitution of
his manhood. She was not altogether happy--it is always a great shock
to discover a lack of principle in one in whom you have had great
confidence. Ruth had regarded Stover not only as a friend but as a man
of exceptional honor. To say that the discovery that he would try to
bribe a man to do a dishonorable thing shocked her, is to put it mildly.
When she next saw Harold she said, "I tried not to hear your
conversation with Mr. Stover, but you both got to talking so loudly
that I could not help it. Harold, I am certainly proud of you."
"I would have liked to have had the job but not at the price they
asked. I will get along some way. If I can't make a living as an
architect I can go to work on the railroad section."
"I have faith that you will succeed as an architect, but I would much
prefer to have a friend of mine an honorable section hand than a
dishonorable architect, no matter how successful he might be in his
profession."
"Ruth," he said, "it is good to have a friend like you. You are
different from so many girls who think so much of display and veneer.
You think more of the things that are really worth while."
"I feel that I do not deserve all that, Harold. My father deserves a
great deal of credit for whatever views of life I have that enable
me to appraise people by a better standard than bank accounts,
automobiles, clothes, painted faces, and dance steps. He has always
laid great stress on the value of character. Often I have heard him
say, 'The real gold of life is not to be found in mines or at the end
of the rainbow but in hearts that are true to friends and loyal to the
best interests of life.'"
"That is certainly a noble sentiment. How is your father?"
"I don't see much change in him. He worries so much because he can't
remember the man who stole his money. Ever since he had that dream he
really believes that some man in whom he had confidence and to whom he
had shown the combination of the safe really robbed him. (Of course it
is only a delusion.) His bank stock, the only property he had except
the home, was turned over to satisfy his debts."
"Ruth, in whom did your father have a great deal of confidence?"
"Do you mean in a business way? Well, there were a number of men in
Zala for whose honesty and ability he had great respect. Of the men out
of town with whom he had business relations, I believe he trusted Mr.
Stover more than any other."
"Ruth, who was the cashier of the bank in which your father was
president?"
"His name is Dick Watson."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know. He left Wilford Springs when Mr. Stover bought my
father's interest, and I have not heard of him since."
"Do you suppose that it is possible that Watson defrauded your father?"
"No, my father's account at the bank tallied with his personal pass
book. His bank stock was sold to Mr. Stover, as you know."
"What did Watson do with his stock?"
"He owned only a small amount of stock, and it also was purchased by
Mr. Stover."
"What kind of a looking fellow is this man, Watson?"
"He is fairly good looking."
Harold laughed. "When you ask a girl about a man's looks she answers:
'Handsome, good looking, fairly good looking, homely, ugly or ugly as a
mud fence.'"
"That's because we think so much of looks, I presume," she said,
laughing, "or it may be because we are so limited in descriptive
powers, but since you do not like my general statement I will try to
be a little more specific. He is about five feet nine or ten inches
in height, has light brown hair and dark blue eyes, his nose is rather
prominent, when he smiles he displays a row of exceedingly white, even
teeth. Is that sufficient?"
"Very good. I believe you will be able to develop your descriptive
powers."
"Why should I?"
"Well you may want to write novels some day."
"If I do I will have you for one of the characters. You will be my
hero."
"I see that you will not succeed as a novelist."
"Why?"
"You have already shown sufficiently poor judgment in selecting a
character to condemn you as a novelist; however, you might succeed
as descriptive writer. I will test you a little farther. Did the man
Watson have any peculiarities?"
"Nothing that I remember, except he lisped slightly."
"Speaking of descriptions," he remarked, "there is a scene that I would
like to have descriptive power to describe."
They were walking through the City's Natural Park and had come suddenly
upon a little lake surrounded by wooded hills. It was the first of
October, and nature's artist had tinted the foliage a rich golden hue.
Two couples in row boats were rowing along the shaded side of the lake
while shimmering light was reflected from the opposite side. The
deep green of the grass which bordered the lake, the gold of the tree
foliage, the blue of the sky above and the passing clouds mirrored in
the water blended in a harmonious picture that no lover of beauty could
fail to admire.
"Isn't it beautiful!" Ruth exclaimed.
"Yes, as Riley says, 'A picture that no painter has the colorin' to
mock.'"
They walked on down a winding road, through the woods and around the
hills. Ruth began humming, "There's a long, long trail a winding into
the land of my dreams."
"That song has a lot of truth in it," he remarked. "The road is often a
long one, and the night seems so long while waiting."
"Yes, but the song also expresses the pleasure that many enjoy while
pursuing the dreams and traveling with 'you.' It depends a lot on who
the 'you' is."
It was a pleasant October afternoon and there were many people riding
and strolling through the park. Harold was thankful that it was cool
enough for him to wear his light overcoat.
A car honked behind them and they stepped out of the road. Golter drove
past. He lifted his hat and spoke very distantly. Ruth had declined an
invitation to go riding with him that afternoon.
"Your special friend," Harold remarked.
"Don't put too much emphasis on the special if you would be exact in
your expression," she replied.
As they were leaving the park they met two young ladies.
"Why, Ruth, for the land sakes! I haven't seen you for a coon's age."
"Mable, I certainly am glad to see you! What are you doing here?"
"I am visiting my cousin. Miss Babcock, my cousin, Miss Welty."
"And allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. King."
After the formal recognitions of the introductions, Ruth said, "Mable,
I haven't seen you since you moved to the capital."
"No. This is the first time I have been any place."
Mable Finch and Ruth had been friends at Zala. Soon after Ruth came to
Wilford Springs, Mable had moved with her parents to the state capital.
"How are your folk?"
"They are well. Father sticks right to business. Mother and I tried to
get him to go to the Shriners' convention this summer, but he thinks
that the business wouldn't run if he were away."
"Is your father still in the hotel business?"
"Yes; you couldn't get him to do anything else. He is planning to build
the largest and finest hotel in the city."
"Will he build soon?"
"Yes, he expects to consider plans at once."
Harold and Miss Welty had walked a short distance away to look at a
petrified tree that had recently been donated to the park and were out
of hearing.
"That's a swell looking beau you are with," said Mable.
"He is a splendid fellow and a very dear friend."
"He certainly looks good."
"Mable, I want you to visit me while you are here."
"I wish I could, but it will be impossible. I just ran down for the
week-end with my cousin, but I'll tell you what I want you to do. Will
you do it?"
"Well," said Ruth, "it will depend just a little on what it is."
Both girls giggled.
"I want you to go home with me for a visit. This week we are to have
our fall musical festival."
"I am going to surprise you by accepting the invitation. That is,
provided I can get off at the bank where I work."
Harold and Mable's cousin now rejoined them and the four left the park
with the crowd that was now homeward bound.