THE DOCTOR TELLS THE TRUTH.
Meantime Will Carden walked slowly up the lane, his basket on his arm
and his hands thrust deep into his pockets. Once out of sight of the
Williams’ grounds his proud bearing relaxed, and great tears welled in
his gray eyes. The scornful words uttered by Mrs. Williams had struck
him like a blow and crushed and humiliated him beyond measure. Yet he
could not at first realize the full meaning of his rebuff; it was only
after he found time to think, that he appreciated what she had really
meant by the words. Her children were rich, and he was poor. There was
a gulf between them, and the fine lady did not wish her children to
play with the vegetable boy. That was all; and it was simple enough, to
be sure. But it brought to Will’s heart a bitterness such as he had
never known in all his brief lifetime.
He liked the Williams boys and girls. They had always been good
comrades, and not one of them had ever hinted that there was any
difference in their positions. But of course they did not know, as
their mother did, how far beneath them was the poor “vegetable boy.”
Will glanced down at the worn and clumsy shoes upon his feet. The
leather was the same color as the earth upon the path, for he worked in
the garden with them, and couldn’t have kept them clean and polished
had he so wished. His trousers were too short; he knew that well
enough, but hadn’t cared about it until then. And they were patched in
places, too, because his mother had an old-fashioned idea that patches
were more respectable than rags, while Will knew well enough that both
were evidences of a poverty that could not be concealed. He didn’t wear
a coat in summer, but his gray shirt, although of coarse material, was
clean and above reproach, and lots of the village boys wore the same
sort of a cheap straw hat as the one perched upon his own head.
The Williams children didn’t wear such hats, though. Will tried to
think what they did wear; but he had never noticed particularly,
although it was easy to remember that the boys’ clothes were of fine
cloths and velvets, and he had heard Flo speak of the pretty puffs and
tucks in the Williams girls’ dresses. Yes, they were rich--very rich,
everyone said--and no one knew so well as Will how very poor and needy
the Cardens were. Perhaps it was quite right in Mrs. Williams not to
want her children to associate with him. But oh! how hard his rejection
was to bear.
Bingham wasn’t a very big town. Formerly it had been merely a
headquarters for the surrounding farmers, who had brought there their
grain to be shipped on the railroad and then purchased their supplies
at the stores before going back home again. But now the place was noted
for its great steel mills, where the famous Williams Drop Forge Steel
was made and shipped to all parts of the world. Three hundred workmen
were employed in the low brick buildings that stood on the edge of
the town to the north, close to the railway tracks; and most of these
workmen lived in pretty new cottages that had been built on grounds
adjoining the mills, and which were owned and rented to them by Chester
D. Williams, the sole proprietor of the steel works.
The old town, with its humble but comfortable dwellings, lay scattered
to the south of the “Main Street,” whereon in a double row stood the
“stores” of Bingham, all very prosperous because of the increased trade
the steel mills had brought to the town.
The great Williams mansion, built only a half dozen years before,
stood upon a knoll at the east end of the main street, and the natural
beauties of the well-wooded grounds had been added to by planting many
rare shrubs and beds of beautiful flowers. It was not only the show
place of Bingham but the only really handsome house in town, and the
natives looked upon it with much pride and reverence.
The cottage occupied by the Cardens stood upon the extreme south edge
of the village, and with it were two acres of excellent land, where
Will and Egbert, assisted at times by their mother and little Florence,
raised the vegetables on which their living depended. Egbert was a
deaf-mute and his right arm was shrivelled and almost useless, all
these afflictions being the result of an illness in his babyhood. But
it was surprising how much work he could do in the garden, in the way
of weeding and watering and even spading; so he was a great help to the
family and contributed much toward the general support. Egbert was two
years older than Will, who was now fifteen, and Florence--or “Flo,” as
everybody called her--was a yellow haired, sunny natured little elf of
ten.
Fortunately, the family living did not depend altogether upon the
garden; for Mr. Jordan, the secretary at the steel works and at one
time John Carden’s best friend, had boarded with the family for
eight years--ever since the day when Will’s father so mysteriously
disappeared, only to be reported dead a month later, and the family
fortunes were swept away in one breath.
Mr. Jordan occupied the best room in the cottage, and paid his board
regularly every Saturday night. He was a silent, reserved man, about
fifty years of age, who seldom spoke to Mrs. Carden and never addressed
the children. After supper his custom was to take a long walk down the
country lane, returning by a roundabout way to shut himself in his
room, whence he only emerged in time for breakfast. After that meal,
which he ate alone, he would take a little lunch basket and stalk
solemnly away to the mills, there to direct the clerical work that came
under his supervision.
Mr. Jordan was a man greatly respected, but little liked. He had no
friends, no companions whatever, and seemed to enjoy the clock-like
regularity and solitude in which he lived.
It was toward this humble home that Will Carden, after being dismissed
by Mrs. Williams, directed his steps on that bright Saturday forenoon.
He tried hard to bear up under the humiliation he had suffered; but
there was no one near to see him and for a few minutes he gave way
to the tears that would force themselves into his eyes, and let them
flow unrestrained. Yet he kept on his way, with bent head and stooping
shoulders, a very different boy from the merry, light hearted youth who
had carried the heavy basket to the big house only an hour ago.
Suddenly, to the eyes blurred with tears, a huge, dark form loomed up
in the road just ahead of him. Will hastily wiped away the unmanly
drops and tried to whistle. Someone was coming, and whoever it was must
not know he had been guilty of crying. Also he shifted his path to
the edge of the road; but the other did the same, and the boy stopped
abruptly with the knowledge that he had been purposely halted.
Then he glanced timidly up and saw a round, bearded face and two shrewd
but kindly eyes that were looking at him from beneath a slouched felt
hat.
“Hello, Doctor,” he said, letting his dismal whistle die away, and
starting to pass round the stalwart form before him.
But Dr. Meigs laid a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder, and made him
face round again.
“What’s up, Will?”
The voice was big and full, yet gentle as it was commanding.
“Noth’n, Doctor.”
“Look here; you’re telling whoppers, young man. Lift up your head.”
Will obeyed.
“You’ve been crying.”
“Something got in my eye,” said the boy.
“To be sure. Tears. What’s it all about, Will? And, mind you, no lying!
Your father’s son should speak the truth boldly and fearlessly.”
“Why, Doctor,” was the halting answer, “it’s nothing that amounts to
shucks. I stopped a minute to fly a kite with the Williams children, up
at the big house, and Mrs. Williams came out and said she didn’t--”
There was a catch in his voice, but he quickly controlled it: “didn’t
want me to play with them. That’s all-- * * * * Well, I’ll be going,
Doctor.”
“Halt!” cried Doctor Meigs, sternly, and Will could see he was frowning
in that awful way he had when anything especially interested him.
“Stand up, William! Throw back those shoulders--chest out--that’s the
way. That’s how your father used to stand, my boy.”
“Did he?” asked Will, brightening up.
“Straight as an arrow. And looked everyone square in the eye, and spoke
the truth, as an honest man should.”
“Then why,” enquired Will, half scared at his own boldness, “did my
father run away, Doctor Meigs?”
“Run away!” roared the doctor, in a terrible voice. “Who told you that?
You’ve been listening to those lying tales of the scandal-mongers.”
“Didn’t he?” timidly asked the boy.
“Not by a jugfull!” declared the doctor, emphatically. “John Carden
would no more run away than he would do a dishonest action. And he was
true as steel.”
Will stood straight enough now, and his gray eyes glistened with
joy and pride. Whatever statement old Doctor Meigs made he believed
implicitly. The doctor had known Will since the day he was born--which
was longer than Will could remember the doctor; but there had never
been an hour of that time when the physician had not been the staunch
friend of all the Carden family, and stood by them loyally in spite of
their reverses and final poverty. He always called at least once a week
to see Egbert, whose bad arm sometimes pained him, and to have a quiet
chat with Mrs. Carden; and if either Will or Flo chanced to be ailing
the doctor was prompt with his remedies. But no bill had ever been
presented for such services.
“I wish you’d tell me about my father,” said Will, wistfully. “Mother
never says much about him, you know.”
“Her heart is broken, my boy,” murmured the doctor, laying a caressing
hand upon Will’s shoulder; “but it’s because she has lost her husband
and friend, not because she has for a moment doubted his memory. Do
you see those big buildings over there?” pointing to the distant steel
works; “well, before they were built, another and more modest building
stood in their place, where your father first discovered the secret
process that has since made Chester Williams a rich and famous man. Did
you know that? But John Carden made himself poor with his experiments,
and Mr. Jordan loaned him money to carry on the tests until your father
was deeply in his debt. There was but one way out, to go to England
and interest the great steel manufacturers of that country in the new
process, which John Carden knew to be very valuable. In order to save
money, your father sailed in a second-class ship that foundered at sea
and drowned him and all on board; and because he told only Mr. Jordan
and myself of the object of his trip abroad, the story got around that
he had run away, having failed in business, and thus cruelly deserted
his family. Jordan is a reserved man, and never talks to anybody, but
I’ve nailed the lie wherever I’ve heard it. Well, after your father’s
death it was found that he had transferred his secret process to Mr.
Jordan, in return for the money he owed him; and Jordan turned the
secret over to Williams, who has established that great factory to
produce the wonderful quality of steel your father invented. It is said
that Mr. Jordan gets a royalty on all the steel the Williams mills
turn out, and if that is so, and I have no reason to doubt it, he is
a wealthy man by this time, and is profiting a hundred-fold for the
money he loaned John Carden. So the debt is cleared, and your family
owes no man a penny. As for Jordan, I don’t like the man, myself; he’s
too silent and stealthy to suit me; but I must say he’s done the square
thing by your mother in boarding with her right along, and so helping
her to support her children.”
“It helps a lot,” said Will, thoughtfully.
“And now, my boy, you’ve got the whole story about your father, and got
it square and fair. Every time you see the Williams mills you ought to
be proud to remember that it was John Carden’s genius that made them
possible, and that has enabled Chester D. Williams to amass a fortune.
As for Mrs. Williams, who was once as poor as yourself, I believe, and
is now a bit too proud of the money her husband has made, don’t you
pay any attention to her. If she doesn’t want you to play with her
children, don’t you mind, Will. Remember that the Cardens have lived
in Bingham for three generations--long before the Williamses were
ever heard of--and there isn’t a thing in their history they need be
ashamed of. Poverty’s no crime, young man; and when you’re a little
older poverty won’t bother you, for you’ll carve out a fine fortune for
yourself, unless I’m very much mistaken.”
Will looked into the big, whiskered face with grateful eyes. Dr. Meigs
had not only comforted him, but made him proud of his family and of
himself.
“Thank you, Doctor,” he said. “I guess I’ll go, now.”
“Put out your tongue!” commanded the doctor.
Will obeyed, meekly.
“You’re right as a trivet. Run along, now, and weed that garden. And
say--take half a peck of peas over to old Mrs. Johnson. I almost forgot
about it. Here’s a quarter to pay for them. Tell her a friend sent them
around. I believe it was old Nelson, but I can’t remember now.”
Then the doctor picked up the little case in which he carried medicines
and strode away down the road, the end of his stout cane ringing on the
hard earth at every step.