When Shirley reached her rooms she broke down completely, she threw
herself upon a sofa and burst into a fit of violent sobbing. After all,
she was only a woman and the ordeal through which she had passed would
have taxed the strongest powers of endurance. She had borne up
courageously while there remained the faintest chance that she might
succeed in moving the financier to pity, but now that all hopes in that
direction were shattered and she herself had been ordered harshly from
the house like any ordinary malefactor, the reaction set in, and she
gave way freely to her long pent-up anguish and distress. Nothing now
could save her father--not even this journey to Washington which she
determined to take nevertheless, for, according to what Stott had said,
the Senate was to take a vote that very night.
She looked at the time--eleven o'clock. She had told Mr. Ryder that she
would leave his house at once, but on reflection it was impossible for
a girl alone to seek a room at that hour. It would be midnight before
she could get her things packed. No, she would stay under this hated
roof until morning and then take the first train to Washington. There
was still a chance that the vote might be delayed, in which case she
might yet succeed in winning over some of the senators. She began to
gather her things together and was thus engaged when she heard a knock
at her door.
"Who's there?" she called out.
"It's I," replied a familiar voice.
Shirley went to the door and opening it found Jefferson on the
threshold. He made no attempt to enter, nor did she invite him in. He
looked tired and careworn. "Of course, you're not going to-night?" he
asked anxiously. "My father did not mean to-night."
"No, Jeff," she said wearily; "not to-night. It's a little too late. I
did not realize it. To-morrow morning, early."
He seemed reassured and held out his hand:
"Good-night, dearest--you're a brave girl. You made a splendid fight."
"It didn't do much good," she replied in a disheartened, listless way.
"But it set him thinking," rejoined Jefferson. "No one ever spoke to my
father like that before. It did him good. He's still marching up and
down the library, chewing the cud--"
Noticing Shirley's tired face and her eyes, with great black circles
underneath, he stopped short.
"Now don't do any more packing to-night," he said. "Go to bed and in
the morning I'll come up and help you. Good night!"
"Good night, Jeff," she smiled.
He went downstairs, and after doing some more packing she went to bed.
But it was hours before she got to sleep, and then she dreamed that she
was in the Senate Chamber and that she saw Ryder suddenly rise and
denounce himself before the astonished senators as a perjurer and
traitor to his country, while she returned to Massapequa with the glad
news that her father was acquitted.
Meantime, a solitary figure remained in the library, pacing to and fro
like a lost soul in Purgatory. Mrs. Ryder had returned from the play
and gone to bed, serenely oblivious of the drama in real life that had
been enacted at home, the servants locked the house up for the night
and still John Burkett Ryder walked the floor of his sanctum, and late
into the small hours of the morning the watchman going his lonely
rounds, saw a light in the library and the restless figure of his
employer sharply silhouetted against the white blinds.
For the first time in his life John Ryder realized that there was
something in the world beyond Self. He had seen with his own eyes the
sacrifice a daughter will make for the father she loves, and he asked
himself what manner of a man that father could be to inspire such
devotion in his child. He probed into his own heart and conscience and
reviewed his past career. He had been phenomenally successful, but he
had not been happy. He had more money than he knew what to do with, but
the pleasures of the domestic circle, which he saw other men enjoy, had
been denied to him. Was he himself to blame? Had his insensate craving
for gold and power led him to neglect those other things in life which
contribute more truly to man's happiness? In other words, was his life
a mistake? Yes, it was true what this girl charged, he had been
merciless and unscrupulous in his dealings with his fellow man. It was
true that hardly a dollar of his vast fortune had been honestly earned.
It was true that it had been wrung from the people by fraud and
trickery. He had craved for power, yet now he had tasted it, what a
hollow joy it was, after all! The public hated and despised him; even
his so-called friends and business associates toadied to him merely
because they feared him. And this judge--this father he had persecuted
and ruined, what a better man and citizen he was, how much more worthy
of a child's love and of the esteem of the world! What had Judge
Rossmore done, after all, to deserve the frightful punishment the
amalgamated interests had caused him to suffer? If he had blocked their
game, he had done only what his oath, his duty commanded him to do.
Such a girl as Shirley Rossmore could not have had any other kind of a
father. Ah, if he had had such a daughter he might have been a better
man, if only to win his child's respect and affection. John Ryder
pondered long and deeply and the more he ruminated the stronger the
conviction grew upon him that the girl was right and he was wrong.
Suddenly, he looked at his watch. It was one o'clock. Roberts had told
him that it would be an all night session and that a vote would
probably not be taken until very late. He unhooked the telephone and
calling "central" asked for "long distance" and connection with
Washington.
It was seven o'clock when the maid entered Shirley's room with her
breakfast and she found its occupant up and dressed.
"Why you haven't been to bed, Miss!" exclaimed the girl, looking at the
bed in the inner room which seemed scarcely disturbed.
"No, Theresa I--I couldn't sleep." Hastily pouring out a cup of tea she
added. "I must catch that nine o'clock train to Washington. I didn't
finish packing until nearly three."
"Can I do anything for you, Miss?" inquired the maid. Shirley was as
popular with the servants as with the rest of the household.
"No," answered Shirley, "there are only a few, things to go in my suit
case. Will you please have a cab here in half an hour?"
The maid was about to go when she suddenly thought of something she had
forgotten. She held out an envelope which she had left lying on the
tray.
"Oh, Miss, Mr. Jorkins said to give you this and master wanted to see
you as soon as you had finished your breakfast."
Shirley tore open the envelope and took out the contents. It was a
cheque, payable to her order for $5,000 and signed "John Burkett Ryder."
A deep flush covered the girl's face as she saw the money--a flush of
annoyance rather than of pleasure. This man who had insulted her, who
had wronged her father, who had driven her from his home, thought he
could throw his gold at her and insolently send her her pay as one
settles haughtily with a servant discharged for impertinence. She would
have none of his money--the work she had done she would make him a
present of. She replaced the cheque in the envelope and passed it back
to Theresa.
"Give this to Mr. Ryder and tell him I cannot see him."
"But Mr. Ryder said--" insisted the girl.
"Please deliver my message as I give it," commanded Shirley with
authority. "I cannot see Mr. Ryder."
The maid withdrew, but she had barely closed the door when it was
opened again and Mrs. Ryder rushed in, without knocking. She was all
flustered with excitement and in such a hurry that she had not even
stopped to arrange her toilet.
"My dear Miss Green," she gasped; "what's this I hear--going away
suddenly without giving me warning?"
"I wasn't engaged by the month," replied Shirley drily.
"I know, dear, I know. I was thinking of myself. I've grown so used to
you--how shall I get on without you--no one understands me the way you
do. Dear me! The whole house is upset. Mr. Ryder never went to bed at
all last night. Jefferson is going away, too--forever, he threatens. If
he hadn't come and woke me up to say good-bye, I should never have
known you intended to leave us. My boy's going--you're
going--everyone's deserting me!"
Mrs. Ryder was not accustomed to such prolonged flights of oratory and
she sank exhausted on a chair, her eyes filling with tears.
"Did they tell you who I am--the daughter of Judge Rossmore?" demanded
Shirley.
It had been a shock to Mrs. Ryder that morning when Jefferson burst
into his mother's room before she was up and acquainted her with the
events of the previous evening. The news that the Miss Green whom she
had grown to love, was really the Miss Rossmore of whose relations with
Jefferson her husband stood in such dread, was far from affecting the
financier's wife as it had Ryder himself. To the mother's simple and
ingenuous mind, free from prejudice and ulterior motive, the girl's
character was more important than her name, and certainly she could not
blame her son for loving such a woman as Shirley. Of course, it was
unfortunate for Jefferson that his father felt this bitterness towards
Judge Rossmore, for she herself could hardly have wished for a more
sympathetic daughter-in-law. She had not seen her husband since the
previous evening at dinner so was in complete ignorance as to what he
thought of this new development, but the mother sighed as she thought
how happy it would make her to see Jefferson happily married to the
girl of his own choice, and in her heart she still entertained the hope
that her husband would see it that way and thus prevent their son from
leaving them as he threatened.
"That's not your fault, my dear," she replied answering Shirley's
question. "You are yourself--that's the main thing. You mustn't mind
what Mr. Ryder says? Business and worry makes him irritable at times.
If you must go, of course you must--you are the best judge of that, but
Jefferson wants to see you before you leave." She kissed Shirley in
motherly fashion, and added: "He has told me everything, dear. Nothing
would make me happier than to see you become his wife. He's downstairs
now waiting for me to tell him to come up."
"It's better that I should not see him," replied Shirley slowly and
gravely. "I can only tell him what I have already told him. My father
comes first. I have still a duty to perform."
"That's right, dear," answered Mrs. Ryder. "You're a good, noble girl
and I admire you all the more for it. I'll let Jefferson be his own
advocate. You'll see him for my sake!"
She gave Shirley another affectionate embrace and left the room while
the girl proceeded with her final preparations for departure. Presently
there was a quick, heavy step in the corridor outside and Jefferson
appeared in the doorway. He stood there waiting for her to invite him
in. She looked up and greeted him cordially, yet it was hardly the kind
of reception he looked for or that he considered he had a right to
expect. He advanced sulkily into the room.
"Mother said she had put everything right," he began. "I guess she was
mistaken."
"Your mother does not understand, neither do you," she replied
seriously. "Nothing can be put right until my father is restored to
honour and position."
"But why should you punish me because my father fails to regard the
matter as we do?" demanded Jefferson rebelliously.
"Why should I punish myself--why should we punish those nearest and
dearest?" answered Shirley gently, "the victims of human injustice
always suffer where their loved ones are tortured. Why are things as
they are--I don't know. I know they are--that's all."
The young man strode nervously up and down the room while she gazed
listlessly out of the window, looking for the cab that was to carry her
away from this house of disappointment. He pleaded with her:
"I have tried honourably and failed--you have tried honourably and
failed. Isn't the sting of impotent failure enough to meet without
striving against a hopeless love?" He approached her and said softly:
"I love you Shirley--don't drive me to desperation. Must I be punished
because you have failed? It's unfair. The sins of the fathers should
not be visited upon the children."
"But they are--it's the law," said Shirley with resignation.
"The law?" he echoed.
"Yes, the law," insisted the girl; "man's law, not God's, the same
unjust law that punishes my father--man's law which is put into the
hands of the powerful of the earth to strike at the weak."
She sank into a chair and, covering up her face, wept bitterly. Between
her sobs she cried brokenly:
"I believed in the power of love to soften your father's heart, I
believed that with God's help I could bring him to see the truth. I
believed that Truth and Love would make him see the light, but it
hasn't. I stayed on and on, hoping against hope until the time has gone
by and it's too late to save him, too late! What can I do now? My going
to Washington is a forlorn hope, a last, miserable, forlorn hope and in
this hour, the darkest of all, you ask me to think of myself--my love,
your love, your happiness, your future, my future! Ah, wouldn't it be
sublime selfishness?"
Jefferson kneeled down beside the chair and taking her hand in his,
tried to reason with her and comfort her:
"Listen, Shirley," he said, "do not do something you will surely
regret. You are punishing me not only because I have failed but because
you have failed too. It seems to me that if you believed it possible to
accomplish so much, if you had so much faith--that you have lost your
faith rather quickly. I believed in nothing, I had no faith and yet I
have not lost hope."
She shook her head and gently withdrew her hand.
"It is useless to insist, Jefferson--until my father is cleared of this
stain our lives--yours and mine--must lie apart."
Someone coughed and, startled, they both looked up. Mr. Ryder had
entered the room unobserved and stood watching them. Shirley
immediately rose to her feet indignant, resenting this intrusion on her
privacy after she had declined to receive the financier. Yet, she
reflected quickly, how could she prevent it? He was at home, free to
come and go as he pleased, but she was not compelled to remain in the
same room with him. She picked up the few things that lay about and
with a contemptuous toss of her head, retreated into the inner
apartment, leaving father and son alone together.
"Hum," grunted Ryder, Sr. "I rather thought I should find you here, but
I didn't quite expect to find you on your knees--dragging our pride in
the mud."
"That's where our pride ought to be," retorted Jefferson savagely. He
felt in the humor to say anything, no matter what the consequences.
"So she has refused you again, eh?" said Ryder, Sr. with a grin.
"Yes," rejoined Jefferson with growing irritation, "she objects to my
family. I don't blame her."
The financier smiled grimly as he answered:
"Your family in general--me in particular, eh? I gleaned that much when
I came in." He looked towards the door of the room in which Shirley had
taken refuge and as if talking to himself he added: "A curious girl
with an inverted point of view--sees everything different to others--I
want to see her before she goes."
He walked over to the door and raised his hand as if he were about to
knock. Then he stopped as if he had changed his mind and turning
towards his son he demanded:
"Do you mean to say that she has done with you?"
"Yes," answered Jefferson bitterly.
"Finally?"
"Yes, finally--forever!"
"Does she mean it?" asked Ryder, Sr., sceptically.
"Yes--she will not listen to me while her father is still in peril."
There was an expression of half amusement, half admiration on the
financier's face as he again turned towards the door.
"It's like her, damn it, just like her!" he muttered.
He knocked boldly at the door.
"Who's there?" cried Shirley from within.
"It is I--Mr. Ryder. I wish to speak to you."
"I must beg you to excuse me," came the answer, "I cannot see you."
Jefferson interfered.
"Why do you want to add to the girl's misery? Don't you think she has
suffered enough?"
"Do you know what she has done?" said Ryder with pretended indignation.
"She has insulted me grossly. I never was so humiliated in my life. She
has returned the cheque I sent her last night in payment for her work
on my biography. I mean to make her take that money. It's hers, she
needs it, her father's a beggar. She must take it back. It's only
flaunting her contempt for me in my face and I won't permit it."
"I don't think her object in refusing that money was to flaunt contempt
in your face, or in any way humiliate you," answered Jefferson. "She
feels she has been sailing under false colours and desires to make some
reparation."
"And so she sends me back my money, feeling that will pacify me,
perhaps repair the injury she has done me, perhaps buy me into entering
into her plan of helping her father, but it won't. It only increases my
determination to see her and her--" Suddenly changing the topic he
asked: "When do you leave us?"
"Now--at once--that is--I--don't know," answered Jefferson embarrassed.
"The fact is my faculties are numbed--I seem to have lost my power of
thinking. Father," he exclaimed, "you see what a wreck you have made of
our lives!"
"Now, don't moralize," replied his father testily, "as if your own
selfishness in desiring to possess that girl wasn't the mainspring of
all your actions!" Waving his son out of the room he added: "Now leave
me alone with her for a few moments. Perhaps I can make her listen to
reason."
Jefferson stared at his father as if he feared he were out of his mind.
"What do you mean? Are you--?" he ejaculated.
"Go--go leave her to me," commanded the financier. "Slam the door when
you go out and she'll think we've both gone. Then come up again
presently."
The stratagem succeeded admirably. Jefferson gave the door a vigorous
pull and John Ryder stood quiet, waiting for the girl to emerge from
sanctuary. He did not have to wait long. The door soon opened and
Shirley came out slowly. She had her hat on and was drawing on her
gloves, for through her window she had caught a glimpse of the cab
standing at the curb. She started on seeing Ryder standing there
motionless, and she would have retreated had he not intercepted her.
"I wish to speak to you Miss--Rossmore," he began.
"I have nothing to say," answered Shirley frigidly.
"Why did you do this?" he asked, holding out the cheque.
"Because I do not want your money," she replied with hauteur.
"It was yours--you earned it," he said.
"No, I came here hoping to influence you to help my father. The work I
did was part of the plan. It happened to fall my way. I took it as a
means to get to your heart."
"But it is yours, please take it. It will be useful."
"No," she said scornfully, "I can't tell you how low I should fall in
my own estimation if I took your money! Money," she added, with ringing
contempt, "why, that's all there is to YOU! It's your god! Shall I make
your god my god? No, thank you, Mr. Ryder!"
"Am I as bad as that?" he asked wistfully.
"You are as bad as that!" she answered decisively.
"So bad that I contaminate even good money?" He spoke lightly but she
noticed that he winced.
"Money itself is nothing," replied the girl, "it's the spirit that
gives it--the spirit that receives it, the spirit that earns it, the
spirit that spends it. Money helps to create happiness. It also creates
misery. It's an engine of destruction when not properly used, it
destroys individuals as it does nations. It has destroyed you, for it
has warped your soul!"
"Go on," he laughed bitterly, "I like to hear you!"
"No, you don't, Mr. Ryder, no you don't, for deep down in your heart
you know that I am speaking the truth. Money and the power it gives
you, has dried up the well-springs of your heart."
He affected to be highly amused at her words, but behind the mask of
callous indifference the man suffered. Her words seared him as with a
red hot iron. She went on:
"In the barbaric ages they fought for possession, but they fought
openly. The feudal barons fought for what they stole, but it was a fair
fight. They didn't strike in the dark. At least, they gave a man a
chance for his life. But when you modern barons of industry don't like
legislation you destroy it, when you don't like your judges you remove
them, when a competitor outbids you you squeeze him out of commercial
existence! You have no hearts, you are machines, and you are cowards,
for you fight unfairly."
"It is not true, it is not true," he protested.
"It is true," she insisted hotly, "a few hours ago in cold blood you
doomed my father to what is certain death because you decided it was a
political necessity. In other words he interfered with your personal
interests--your financial interests--you, with so many millions you
can't count them!" Scornfully she added: "Come out into the
light--fight in the open! At least, let him know who his enemy is!"
"Stop--stop--not another word," he cried impatiently, "you have
diagnosed the disease. What of the remedy? Are you prepared to
reconstruct human nature?"
Confronting each other, their eyes met and he regarded her without
resentment, almost with tenderness. He felt strangely drawn towards
this woman who had defied and accused him, and made him see the world
in a new light.
"I don't deny," he admitted reluctantly, "that things seem to be as you
describe them, but it is part of the process of evolution."
"No," she protested, "it is the work of God!"
"It is evolution!" he insisted.
"Ah, that's it," she retorted, "you evolve new ideas, new schemes, new
tricks--you all worship different gods--gods of your own making!"
He was about to reply when there was a commotion at the door and
Theresa entered, followed by a man servant to carry down the trunk.
"The cab is downstairs, Miss," said the maid.
Ryder waved them away imperiously. He had something further to say
which he did not care for servants to hear. Theresa and the man
precipitately withdrew, not understanding, but obeying with alacrity a
master who never brooked delay in the execution of his orders. Shirley,
indignant, looked to him for an explanation.
"You don't need them," he exclaimed with a quiet smile in which was a
shade of embarrassment. "I--I came here to tell you that I--" He
stopped as if unable to find words, while Shirley gazed at him in utter
astonishment. "Ah," he went on finally, "you have made it very hard for
me to speak." Again he paused and then with an effort he said slowly:
"An hour ago I had Senator Roberts on the long distance telephone, and
I'm going to Washington. It's all right about your father. The matter
will be dropped. You've beaten me. I acknowledge it. You're the first
living soul who ever has beaten John Burkett Ryder."
Shirley started forward with a cry of mingled joy and surprise. Could
she believe her ears? Was it possible that the dreaded Colossus had
capitulated and that she had saved her father? Had the forces of right
and justice prevailed, after all? Her face transfigured, radiant she
exclaimed breathlessly:
"What, Mr. Ryder, you mean that you are going to help my father?"
"Not for his sake--for yours," he answered frankly.
Shirley hung her head. In her moment of triumph, she was sorry for all
the hard things she had said to this man. She held out her hand to him.
"Forgive me," she said gently, "it was for my father. I had no faith. I
thought your heart was of stone."
Impulsively Ryder drew her to him, he clasped her two hands in his and
looking down at her kindly he said, awkwardly:
"So it was--so it was! You accomplished the miracle. It's the first
time I've acted on pure sentiment. Let me tell you something. Good
sentiment is bad business and good business is bad sentiment--that's
why a rich man is generally supposed to have such a hard time getting
into the Kingdom of Heaven." He laughed and went on, "I've given ten
millions apiece to three universities. Do you think I'm fool enough to
suppose I can buy my way? But that's another matter. I'm going to
Washington on behalf of your father because I--want you to marry my
son. Yes, I want you in the family, close to us. I want your respect,
my girl. I want your love. I want to earn it. I know I can't buy it.
There's a weak spot in every man's armour and this is mine--I always
want what I can't get and I can't get your love unless I earn it."
Shirley remained pensive. Her thoughts were out on Long Island, at
Massapequa. She was thinking of their joy when they heard the news--her
father, her mother and Stott. She was thinking of the future, bright
and glorious with promise again, now that the dark clouds were passing
away. She thought of Jefferson and a soft light came into her eyes as
she foresaw a happy wifehood shared with him.
"Why so sober," demanded Ryder, "you've gained your point, your father
is to be restored to you, you'll marry the man you love?"
"I'm so happy!" murmured Shirley. "I don't deserve it. I had no faith."
Ryder released her and took out his watch.
"I leave in fifteen minutes for Washington," he said. "Will you trust
me to go alone?"
"I trust you gladly," she answered smiling at him. "I shall always be
grateful to you for letting me convert you."
"You won me over last night," he rejoined, "when you put up that fight
for your father. I made up my mind that a girl so loyal to her father
would be loyal to her husband. You think," he went on, "that I do not
love my son--you are mistaken. I do love him and I want him to be
happy. I am capable of more affection than people think. It is Wall
Street," he added bitterly, "that has crushed all sentiment out of me."
Shirley laughed nervously, almost hysterically.
"I want to laugh and I feel like crying," she cried. "What will
Jefferson say--how happy he will be!"
"How are you going to tell him?" inquired Ryder uneasily.
"I shall tell him that his dear, good father has relented and--"
"No, my dear," he interrupted, "you will say nothing of the sort. I
draw the line at the dear, good father act. I don't want him to think
that it comes from me at all."
"But," said Shirley puzzled, "I shall have to tell him that you--"
"What?" exclaimed Ryder, "acknowledge to my son that I was in the
wrong, that I've seen the error of my ways and wish to repent? Excuse
me," he added grimly, "it's got to come from him. He must see the error
of HIS ways."
"But the error of his way," laughed the girl, "was falling in love with
me. I can never prove to him that that was wrong!"
The financier refused to be convinced. He shook his head and said
stubbornly:
"Well, he must be put in the wrong somehow or other! Why, my dear
child," he went on, "that boy has been waiting all his life for an
opportunity to say to me: 'Father, I knew I was in the right, and I
knew you were wrong.' Can't you see," he asked, "what a false position
it places me in? Just picture his triumph!"
"He'll be too happy to triumph," objected Shirley.
Feeling a little ashamed of his attitude, he said:
"I suppose you think I'm very obstinate." Then, as she made no reply,
he added: "I wish I didn't care what you thought."
Shirley looked at him gravely for a moment and then she replied
seriously:
"Mr. Ryder, you're a great man--you're a genius--your life is full of
action, energy, achievement. But it appears to be only the good, the
noble and the true that you are ashamed of. When your money triumphs
over principle, when your political power defeats the ends of justice,
you glory in your victory. But when you do a kindly, generous, fatherly
act, when you win a grand and noble victory over yourself, you are
ashamed of it. It was a kind, generous impulse that has prompted you to
save my father and take your son and myself to your heart. Why are you
ashamed to let him see it? Are you afraid he will love you? Are you
afraid I shall love you? Open your heart wide to us--let us love you."
Ryder, completely vanquished, opened his arms and Shirley sprang
forward and embraced him as she would have embraced her own father. A
solitary tear coursed down the financier's cheek. In thirty years he
had not felt, or been touched by, the emotion of human affection.
The door suddenly opened and Jefferson entered. He started on seeing
Shirley in his father's arms.
"Jeff, my boy," said the financier, releasing Shirley and putting her
hand in his son's, "I've done something you couldn't do--I've convinced
Miss Green--I mean Miss Rossmore--that we are not so bad after all!"
Jefferson, beaming, grasped his father's hand.
"Father!" he exclaimed.
"That's what I say--father!" echoed Shirley.
They both embraced the financier until, overcome with emotion, Ryder,
Sr., struggled to free himself and made his escape from the room crying:
"Good-bye, children--I'm off for Washington!"
THE END