"What!" exclaimed Shirley, changing colour, "you believe that John
Burkett Ryder is at the bottom of this infamous accusation against
father?"
It was the day following her arrival at Massapequa, and Shirley, the
judge and Stott were all three sitting on the porch. Until now, by
common consent, any mention of the impeachment proceedings had been
avoided by everyone. The previous afternoon and evening had been spent
listening to an account of Shirley's experiences in Europe and a smile
had flitted across even the judge's careworn face as his daughter gave
a humorous description of the picturesque Paris student with their long
hair and peg-top trousers, while Stott simply roared with laughter. Ah,
it was good to laugh again after so much trouble and anxiety! But while
Shirley avoided the topic that lay nearest her heart, she was consumed
with a desire to tell her father of the hope she had of enlisting the
aid of John Burkett Ryder. The great financier was certainly able to do
anything he chose, and had not his son Jefferson promised to win him
over to their cause? So, to-day, after Mrs. Rossmore and her sister had
gone down to the village to make some purchases Shirley timidly
broached the matter. She asked Stott and her father to tell her
everything, to hold back nothing. She wanted to hear the worst.
Stott, therefore, started to review the whole affair from the
beginning, explaining how her father in his capacity as Judge of the
Supreme Court had to render decisions, several of which were adverse to
the corporate interests of a number of rich men, and how since that
time these powerful interests had used all their influence to get him
put off the Bench. He told her about the Transcontinental case and how
the judge had got mysteriously tangled up in the Great Northern Mining
Company, and of the scandalous newspaper rumours, followed by the news
of the Congressional inquiry. Then he told her about the panic in Wall
Street, the sale of the house on Madison Avenue and the removal to Long
Island.
"That is the situation," said Stott when he had finished. "We are
waiting now to see what the Senate will do. We hope for the best. It
seems impossible that the Senate will condemn a man whose whole life is
like an open book, but unfortunately the Senate is strongly Republican
and the big interests are in complete control. Unless support comes
from some unexpected quarter we must be prepared for anything."
Support from some unexpected quarter! Stott's closing words rang in
Shirley's head. Was that not just what she had to offer? Unable to
restrain herself longer and her heart beating tumultuously from
suppressed emotion, she cried:
"We'll have that support! We'll have it! I've got it already! I wanted
to surprise you! Father, the most powerful man in the United States
will save you from being dishonoured!"
The two men leaned forward in eager interest. What could the girl mean?
Was she serious or merely jesting?
But Shirley was never more serious in her life. She was jubilant at the
thought that she had arrived home in time to invoke the aid of this
powerful ally. She repeated enthusiastically:
"We need not worry any more. He has but to say a word and these
proceedings will be instantly dropped. They would not dare act against
his veto. Did you hear, father, your case is as good as won!"
"What do you mean, child? Who is this unknown friend?"
"Surely you can guess when I say the most powerful man in the United
States? None other than John Burkett Ryder!"
She stopped short to watch the effect which this name would have on her
hearers. But to her surprise neither her father nor Stott displayed the
slightest emotion or even interest. Puzzled at this cold reception, she
repeated:
"Did you hear, father--John Burkett Ryder will come to your assistance.
I came home on the same ship as his son and he promised to secure his
father's aid."
The judge puffed heavily at his pipe and merely shook his head, making
no reply. Stott explained:
"We can't look for help from that quarter, Shirley. You don't expect a
man to cut loose his own kite, do you?"
"What do you mean?" demanded Shirley, mystified.
"Simply this--that John Burkett Ryder is the very man who is
responsible for all your father's misfortunes."
The girl sank back in her seat pale and motionless, as if she had
received a blow. Was it possible? Could Jefferson's father have done
them such a wrong as this? She well knew that Ryder, Sr., was a man who
would stop at nothing to accomplish his purpose--this she had
demonstrated conclusively in her book--but she had never dreamed that
his hand would ever be directed against her own flesh and blood.
Decidedly some fatality was causing Jefferson and herself to drift
further and further apart. First, her father's trouble. That alone
would naturally have separated them. And now this discovery that
Jefferson's father had done hers this wrong. All idea of marriage was
henceforth out of the question. That was irrevocable. Of course, she
could not hold Jefferson to blame for methods which he himself
abhorred. She would always think as much of him as ever, but whether
her father emerged safely from the trial in the Senate or not--no
matter what the outcome of the impeachment proceedings might be,
Jefferson could never be anything else than a Ryder and from now on
there would be an impassable gulf between the Rossmores and the Ryders.
The dove does not mate with the hawk.
"Do you really believe this, that John Ryder deliberately concocted the
bribery charge with the sole purpose of ruining my father?" demanded
Shirley when she had somewhat recovered.
"There is no other solution of the mystery possible," answered Stott.
"The Trusts found they could not fight him in the open, in a fair,
honest way, so they plotted in the dark. Ryder was the man who had most
to lose by your father's honesty on the bench. Ryder was the man he hit
the hardest when he enjoined his Transcontinental Railroad. Ryder, I am
convinced, is the chief conspirator."
"But can such things be in a civilized community?" cried Shirley
indignantly. "Cannot he be exposed, won't the press take the matter up,
cannot we show conspiracy?"
"It sounds easy, but it isn't," replied Stott. "I have had a heap of
experience with the law, my child, and I know what I'm talking about.
They're too clever to be caught tripping. They've covered their tracks
well, be sure of that. As to the newspapers--when did you ever hear of
them championing a man when he's down?"
"And you, father--do you believe Ryder did this?"
"I have no longer any doubt of it," answered the judge. "I think John
Ryder would see me dead before he would raise a finger to help me. His
answer to my demand for my letters convinced me that he was the arch
plotter."
"What letters do you refer to?" demanded Shirley.
"The letters I wrote to him in regard to my making an investment. He
advised the purchase of certain stock. I wrote him two letters at the
time, which letters if I had them now would go a long way to clearing
me of this charge of bribery, for they plainly showed that I regarded
the transaction as a bona fide investment. Since this trouble began I
wrote to Ryder asking him to return me these letters so I might use
them in my defence. The only reply I got was an insolent note from his
secretary saying that Mr. Ryder had forgotten all about the
transaction, and in any case had not the letters I referred to."
"Couldn't you compel him to return them?" asked Shirley.
"We could never get at him," interrupted Stott. "The man is guarded as
carefully as the Czar."
"Still," objected Shirley, "it is possible that he may have lost the
letters or even never received them."
"Oh, he has them safe enough," replied Stott. "A man like Ryder keeps
every scrap of paper, with the idea that it may prove useful some day.
The letters are lying somewhere in his desk. Besides, after the
Transcontinental decision he was heard to say that he'd have Judge
Rossmore off the Bench inside of a year."
"And it wasn't a vain boast--he's done it," muttered the judge.
Shirley relapsed into silence. Her brain was in a whirl. It was true
then. This merciless man of money, this ogre of monopolistic
corporations, this human juggernaut had crushed her father merely
because by his honesty he interfered with his shady business deals! Ah,
why had she spared him in her book? She felt now that she had been too
lenient, not bitter enough, not sufficiently pitiless. Such a man was
entitled to no mercy. Yes, it was all clear enough now. John Burkett
Ryder, the head of "the System," the plutocrat whose fabulous fortune
gave him absolute control over the entire country, which invested him
with a personal power greater than that of any king, this was the man
who now dared attack the Judiciary, the corner stone of the
Constitution, the one safeguard of the people's liberty. Where would it
end? How long would the nation tolerate being thus ruthlessly trodden
under the unclean heels of an insolent oligarchy? The capitalists,
banded together for the sole purpose of pillage and loot, had already
succeeded in enslaving the toiler. The appalling degradation of the
working classes, the sordidness and demoralizing squalor in which they
passed their lives, the curse of drink, the provocation to crime, the
shame of the sweat shops--all which evils in our social system she had
seen as a Settlement worker, were directly traceable to Centralized
Wealth. The labor unions regulated wages and hours, but they were
powerless to control the prices of the necessaries of life. The Trusts
could at pleasure create famine or plenty. They usually willed to make
it famine so they themselves might acquire more millions with which to
pay for marble palaces, fast motor cars, ocean-going yachts and
expensive establishments at Newport. Food was ever dearer and of poorer
quality, clothes cost more, rents and taxes were higher. She thought of
the horrors in the packing houses at Chicago recently made the subject
of a sensational government report--putrid, pestiferous meats put up
for human food amid conditions of unspeakable foulness, freely exposed
to deadly germs from the expectorations of work people suffering from
tuberculosis, in unsanitary rotten buildings soaked through with blood
and every conceivable form of filth and decay, the beef barons careless
and indifferent to the dictates of common decency so long as they could
make more money. And while our public gasped in disgust at the
sickening revelations of the Beef scandal and foreign countries quickly
cancelled their contracts for American prepared meats, the millionaire
packer, insolent in the possession of wealth stolen from a poisoned
public, impudently appeared in public in his fashionable touring car,
with head erect and self-satisfied, wholly indifferent to his shame.
These and other evidences of the plutocracy's cruel grip upon the
nation had ended by exasperating the people. There must be a limit
somewhere to the turpitudes of a degenerate class of nouveaux riches.
The day of reckoning was fast approaching for the grafters and among
the first to taste the vengeance of the people would be the Colossus.
But while waiting for the people to rise in their righteous wrath,
Ryder was all powerful, and if it were true that he had instituted
these impeachment proceedings her father had little chance. What could
be done? They could not sit and wait, as Stott had said, for the action
of the Senate. If it were true that Ryder controlled the Senate as he
controlled everything else her father was doomed. No, they must find
some other way.
And long after the judge and Stott had left for the city Shirley sat
alone on the porch engrossed in thought, taxing her brain to find some
way out of the darkness. And when presently her mother and aunt
returned they found her still sitting there, silent and preoccupied. If
they only had those two letters, she thought. They alone might save her
father. But how could they be got at? Mr. Ryder had put them safely
away, no doubt. He would not give them up. She wondered how it would be
to go boldly to him and appeal to whatever sense of honour and fairness
that might be lying latent within him. No, such a man would not know
what the terms "honour," "fairness" meant. She pondered upon it all day
and at night when she went tired to bed it was her last thought as she
dropped off to sleep.
The following morning broke clear and fine. It was one of those
glorious, ideal days of which we get perhaps half a dozen during the
whole summer, days when the air is cool and bracing, champagne-like in
its exhilarating effect, and when Nature dons her brightest dress, when
the atmosphere is purer, the grass greener, the sky bluer, the flowers
sweeter and the birds sing in more joyous chorus, when all creation
seems in tune. Days that make living worth while, when one can forget
the ugliness, the selfishness, the empty glitter of the man-made city
and walk erect and buoyant in the open country as in the garden of God.
Shirley went out for a long walk. She preferred to go alone so she
would not have to talk. Hers was one of those lonely, introspective
natures that resent the intrusion of aimless chatter when preoccupied
with serious thoughts. Long Island was unknown territory to her and it
all looked very flat and uninteresting, but she loved the country, and
found keen delight in the fresh, pure air and the sweet scent of new
mown hay waited from the surrounding fields. In her soft, loosefitting
linen dress, her white canvas shoes, garden hat trimmed with red roses,
and lace parasol, she made an attractive picture and every
passer-by--with the exception of one old farmer and he was half
blind--turned to look at this good-looking girl, a stranger in those
parts and whose stylish appearance suggested Fifth Avenue rather than
the commonplace purlieus of Massapequa.
Every now and then Shirley espied in the distance the figure of a man
which she thought she recognized as that of Jefferson. Had he come,
after all? The blood went coursing tumultuously through her veins only
a moment later to leave her face a shade paler as the man came nearer
and she saw he was a stranger. She wondered what he was doing, if he
gave her a thought, if he had spoken to his father and what the latter
had said. She could realize now what Mr. Ryder's reply had been. Then
she wondered what her future life would be. She could do nothing, of
course, until the Senate had passed upon her father's case, but it was
imperative that she get to work. In a day or two, she would call on her
publishers and learn how her book was selling. She might get other
commissions. If she could not make enough money in literary work she
would have to teach. It was a dreary outlook at best, and she sighed as
she thought of the ambitions that had once stirred her breast. All the
brightness seemed to have gone out of her life, her father disgraced,
Jefferson now practically lost to her--only her work remained.
As she neared the cottage on her return home she caught sight of the
letter carrier approaching the gate. Instantly she thought of
Jefferson, and she hurried to intercept the man. Perhaps he had written
instead of coming.
"Miss Shirley Rossmore?" said the man eyeing her interrogatively.
"That's I," said Shirley.
The postman handed her a letter and passed on. Shirley glanced quickly
at the superscription. No, it was not from Jefferson; she knew his
handwriting too well. The envelope, moreover, bore the firm name of her
publishers. She tore it open and found that it merely contained another
letter which the publishers had forwarded. This was addressed to Miss
Shirley Green and ran as follows:
DEAR MADAM.--If convenient, I should like to see you at my office, No.
36 Broadway, in relation to your book "The American Octopus." Kindly
inform me as to the day and hour at which I may expect you.
Yours truly,
JOHN BURKETT RYDER, per B.
Shirley almost shouted from sheer excitement. At first she was
alarmed--the name John Burkett Ryder was such a bogey to frighten bad
children with, she thought he might want to punish her for writing
about him as she had. She hurried to the porch and sat there reading
the letter over and over and her brain began to evolve ideas. She had
been wondering how she could get at Mr. Ryder and here he was actually
asking her to call on him. Evidently he had not the slightest idea of
her identity, for he had been able to reach her only through her
publishers and no doubt he had exhausted every other means of
discovering her address. The more she pondered over it the more she
began to see in this invitation a way of helping her father. Yes, she
would go and beard the lion in his den, but she would not go to his
office. She would accept the invitation only on condition that the
interview took place in the Ryder mansion where undoubtedly the letters
would be found. She decided to act immediately. No time was to be lost,
so she procured a sheet of paper and an envelope and wrote as follows:
MR. JOHN BURKETT RYDER,
Dear Sir.--I do not call upon gentlemen at their business office.
Yours, etc.,
SHIRLEY GREEN.
Her letter was abrupt and at first glance seemed hardly calculated to
bring about what she wanted--an invitation to call at the Ryder home,
but she was shrewd enough to see that if Ryder wrote to her at all it
was because he was most anxious to see her and her abruptness would not
deter him from trying again. On the contrary, the very unusualness of
anyone thus dictating to him would make him more than ever desirous of
making her acquaintance. So Shirley mailed the letter and awaited with
confidence for Ryder's reply. So certain was she that one would come
that she at once began to form her plan of action. She would leave
Massapequa at once, and her whereabouts must remain a secret even from
her own family. As she intended to go to the Ryder house in the assumed
character of Shirley Green, it would never do to run the risk of being
followed home by a Ryder detective to the Rossmore cottage. She would
confide in one person only--Judge Stott. He would know where she was
and would be in constant communication with her. But, otherwise, she
must be alone to conduct the campaign as she judged fit. She would go
at once to New York and take rooms in a boarding house where she would
be known as Shirley Green. As for funds to meet her expenses, she had
her diamonds, and would they not be filling a more useful purpose if
sold to defray the cost of saving her father than in mere personal
adornment? So that evening, while her mother was talking with the
judge, she beckoned Stott over to the corner where she was sitting:
"Judge Stott," she began, "I have a plan."
He smiled indulgently at her.
"Another friend like that of yesterday?" he asked.
"No," replied the girl, "listen. I am in earnest now and I want you to
help me. You said that no one on earth could resist John Burkett Ryder,
that no one could fight against the Money Power. Well, do you know what
I am going to do?"
There was a quiver in her voice and her nostrils were dilated like
those of a thoroughbred eager to run the race. She had risen from her
seat and stood facing him, her fists clenched, her face set and
determined. Stott had never seen her in this mood and he gazed at her
half admiringly, half curiously.
"What will you do?" he asked with a slightly ironical inflection in his
voice.
"I am going to fight John Burkett Ryder!" she cried.
Stott looked at her open-mouthed.
"You?" he said.
"Yes, I," said Shirley. "I'm going to him and I intend to get those
letters if he has them."
Stott shook his head.
"My dear child," he said, "what are you talking about? How can you
expect to reach Ryder? We couldn't."
"I don't know just how yet," replied Shirley, "but I'm going to try. I
love my father and I'm going to leave nothing untried to save him."
"But what can you do?" persisted Stott. "The matter has been sifted
over and over by some of the greatest minds in the country."
"Has any woman sifted it over?" demanded Shirley.
"No, but--" stammered Stott.
"Then it's about time one did," said the girl decisively. "Those
letters my father speaks of--they would be useful, would they not?"
"They would be invaluable."
"Then I'll get them. If not--"
"But I don't understand how you're going to get at Ryder," interrupted
Stott.
"This is how," replied Shirley, passing over to him the letter she had
received that afternoon.
As Stott recognized the well-known signature and read the contents, the
expression of his face changed. He gasped for breath and sank into a
chair from sheer astonishment.
"Ah, that's different!" he cried, "that's different!"
Briefly Shirley outlined her plan, explaining that she would go to live
in the city immediately and conduct her campaign from there. If she was
successful, it might save her father and if not, no harm could come of
it.
Stott demurred at first. He did not wish to bear alone the
responsibility of such an adventure. There was no knowing what might
happen to her, visiting a strange house under an assumed name. But when
he saw how thoroughly in earnest she was and that she was ready to
proceed without him, he capitulated. He agreed that she might be able
to find the missing letters or if not, that she might make some
impression on Ryder himself. She could show interest in the judge's
case as a disinterested outsider and so might win his sympathies. From
being a skeptic, Stott now became enthusiastic. He promised to
cooperate in every way and to keep Shirley's whereabouts an absolute
secret. The girl, therefore, began to make her preparations for
departure from home by telling her parents that she had accepted an
invitation to spend a week or two with an old college chum in New York.
That same evening her mother, the judge, and Stott went for a stroll
after dinner and left her to take care of the house. They had wanted
Shirley to go, too, but she pleaded fatigue. The truth was that she
wanted to be alone so she could ponder undisturbed over her plans. It
was a clear, starlit night, with no moon, and Shirley sat on the porch
listening to the chirping of the crickets and idly watching the flashes
of the mysterious fireflies. She was in no mood for reading and sat for
a long time rocking herself, engrossed in her thoughts. Suddenly she
heard someone unfasten the garden gate. It was too soon for the return
of the promenaders; it must be a visitor. Through the uncertain
penumbra of the garden she discerned approaching a form which looked
familiar. Yes, now there was no doubt possible. It was, indeed,
Jefferson Ryder.
She hurried down the porch to greet him. No matter what the father had
done she could never think any the less of the son. He took her hand
and for several moments neither one spoke. There are times when silence
is more eloquent than speech and this was one of them. The gentle grip
of his big strong hand expressed more tenderly than any words, the
sympathy that lay in his heart for the woman he loved. Shirley said
quietly:
"You have come at last, Jefferson."
"I came as soon as I could," he replied gently. "I saw Father only
yesterday."
"You need not tell me what he said," Shirley hastened to say.
Jefferson made no reply. He understood what she meant. He hung his head
and hit viciously with his walking stick at the pebbles that lay at his
feet. She went on:
"I know everything now. It was foolish of me to think that Mr. Ryder
would ever help us."
"I can't help it in any way," blurted out Jefferson. "I have not the
slightest influence over him. His business methods I consider
disgraceful--you understand that, don't you, Shirley?"
The girl laid her hand on his arm and replied kindly:
"Of course, Jeff, we know that. Come up and sit down."
He followed her on the porch and drew up a rocker beside her.
"They are all out for a walk," she explained.
"I'm glad," he said frankly. "I wanted a quiet talk with you. I did not
care to meet anyone. My name must be odious to your people."
Both were silent, feeling a certain awkwardness. They seemed to have
drifted apart in some way since those delightful days in Paris and on
the ship. Then he said:
"I'm going away, but I couldn't go until I saw you."
"You are going away?" exclaimed Shirley, surprised.
"Yes," he said, "I cannot stand it any more at home. I had a hot talk
with my father yesterday about one thing and another. He and I don't
chin well together. Besides this matter of your father's impeachment
has completely discouraged me. All the wealth in the world could never
reconcile me to such methods! I'm ashamed of the role my own flesh and
blood has played in that miserable affair. I can't express what I feel
about it."
"Yes," sighed Shirley, "it is hard to believe that you are the son of
that man!"
"How is your father?" inquired Jefferson. "How does he take it?"
"Oh, his heart beats and he can see and hear and speak," replied
Shirley sadly, "but he is only a shadow of what he once was. If the
trial goes against him, I don't think he'll survive it."
"It is monstrous," cried Jefferson. "To think that my father should be
responsible for this thing!"
"We are still hoping for the best," added Shirley, "but the outlook is
dark."
"But what are you going to do?" he asked. "These surroundings are not
for you--" He looked around at the cheap furnishings which he could see
through the open window and his face showed real concern.
"I shall teach or write, or go out as governess," replied Shirley with
a tinge of bitterness. Then smiling sadly she added: "Poverty is easy;
it is unmerited disgrace which is hard."
The young man drew his chair closer and took hold of the hand that lay
in her lap. She made no resistance.
"Shirley," he said, "do you remember that talk we had on the ship? I
asked you to be my wife. You led me to believe that you were not
indifferent to me. I ask you again to marry me. Give me the right to
take care of you and yours. I am the son of the world's richest man,
but I don't want his money. I have earned a competence of my
own--enough to live on comfortably. We will go away where you and your
father and mother will make their home with us. Do not let the sins of
the fathers embitter the lives of the children."
"Mine has not sinned," said Shirley bitterly.
"I wish I could say the same of mine," replied Jefferson. "It is
because the clouds are dark about you that I want to come into your
life to comfort you."
The girl shook her head.
"No, Jefferson, the circumstances make such a marriage impossible. Your
family and everybody else would say that I had inveigled you into it.
It is even more impossible now than I thought it was when I spoke to
you on the ship. Then I was worried about my father's trouble and could
give no thought to anything else. Now it is different. Your father's
action has made our union impossible for ever. I thank you for the
honour you have done me. I do like you. I like you well enough to be
your wife, but I will not accept this sacrifice on your part. Your
offer, coming at such a critical time, is dictated only by your noble,
generous nature, by your sympathy for our misfortune. Afterwards, you
might regret it. If my father were convicted and driven from the bench
and you found you had married the daughter of a disgraced man you would
be ashamed of us all, and if I saw that it would break my heart."
Emotion stopped her utterance and she buried her face in her hands
weeping silently.
"Shirley," said Jefferson gently, "you are wrong. I love you for
yourself, not because of your trouble. You know that. I shall never
love any other woman but you. If you will not say 'yes' now, I shall go
away as I told my father I would and one day I shall come back and then
if you are still single I shall ask you again to be my wife."
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I shall travel for a year and then, may be, I shall stay a couple of
years in Paris, studying at the Beaux Arts. Then I may go to Rome. If I
am to do anything worth while in the career I have chosen I must have
that European training."
"Paris! Rome!" echoed Shirley. "How I envy you! Yes, you are right. Get
away from this country where the only topic, the only thought is money,
where the only incentive to work is dollars. Go where there are still
some ideals, where you can breathe the atmosphere of culture and art."
Forgetting momentarily her own troubles, Shirley chatted on about life
in the art centres of Europe, advised Jefferson where to go, with whom
to study. She knew people in Paris, Rome and Munich and she would give
him letters to them. Only, if he wanted to perfect himself in the
languages, he ought to avoid Americans and cultivate the natives. Then,
who could tell? if he worked hard and was lucky, he might have
something exhibited at the Salon and return to America a famous painter.
"If I do," smiled Jefferson, "you shall be the first to congratulate
me. I shall come and ask you to be my wife. May I?" he added.
Shirley smiled gravely.
"Get famous first. You may not want me then."
"I shall always want you," he whispered hoarsely, bending over her. In
the dim light of the porch he saw that her tear-stained face was drawn
and pale. He rose and held out his hand.
"Good-bye," he said simply.
"Good-bye, Jefferson." She rose and put her hand in his. "We shall
always be friends. I, too, am going away."
"You going away--where to?" he asked surprised.
"I have work to do in connection with my father's case," she said.
"You?" said Jefferson puzzled. "You have work to do--what work?"
"I can't say what it is, Jefferson. There are good reasons why I can't.
You must take my word for it that it is urgent and important work."
Then she added: "You go your way, Jefferson; I will go mine. It was not
our destiny to belong to each other. You will become famous as an
artist. And I--"
"And you--" echoed Jefferson.
"I--I shall devote my life to my father. It's no use,
Jefferson--really--I've thought it all out. You must not come back to
me--you understand. We must be alone with our grief--father and I.
Good-bye."
He raised her hand to his lips.
"Good-bye, Shirley. Don't forget me. I shall come back for you."
He went down the porch and she watched him go out of the gate and down
the road until she could see his figure no longer. Then she turned back
and sank into her chair and burying her face in her handkerchief she
gave way to a torrent of tears which afforded some relief to the weight
on her heart. Presently the others returned from their walk and she
told them about the visitor.
"Mr. Ryder's son, Jefferson, was here. We crossed on the same ship. I
introduced him to Judge Stott on the dock."
The judge looked surprised, but he merely said:
"I hope for his sake that he is a different man from his father."
"He is," replied Shirley simply, and nothing more was said.
Two days went by, during which Shirley went on completing the
preparations for her visit to New York. It was arranged that Stott
should escort her to the city. Shortly before they started for the
train a letter arrived for Shirley. Like the first one it had been
forwarded by her publishers. It read as follows:
MISS SHIRLEY GREEN,
Dear Madam.--I shall be happy to see you at my residence--Fifth
Avenue--any afternoon that you will mention.
Yours very truly,
JOHN BURKETT RYDER, per B.
Shirley smiled in triumph as, unseen by her father and mother, she
passed it over to Stott. She at once sat down and wrote this reply:
MR. JOHN BURKETT RYDER,
Dear Sir.--I am sorry that I am unable to comply with your request. I
prefer the invitation to call at your private residence should come
from Mrs. Ryder.
Yours, etc.,
SHIRLEY GREEN.
She laughed as she showed this to Stott: "He'll write me again," she
said, "and next time his wife will sign the letter."
An hour later she left Massapequa for the city.