TO GO ON A VISIT.
A month must have passed since Henry had sought to investigate the
standing of Dr. Linmarck, when, one evening, Ellen astonished her
father with the news that old Mrs. Colton was to be taken on a visit
to her sister, who lived in New Jersey. The sister had written an
urgent letter to Mrs. Brooks, begging that the old lady might
straightway be sent to her, and offering to relieve Mr. Brooks of all
the trouble and responsibility that might be incurred by the journey.
She would send her son and her family physician. Witherspoon grunted
at so absurd a request and was surprised that Brooks should grant it.
The old woman might die on the train, and besides, what possible
pleasure could she extract from such a visit? It was nonsense.
"But suppose the poor old creature wants to go?" said Mrs.
Witherspoon.
"Ah, but how is any one to know whether she does or not?"
"Of course no one can tell what she thinks, but it is reasonable to
suppose that she would like to see her sister."
"Oh, yes, it is reasonable to suppose almost anything when you start
out on that line; but it's not common sense to act upon almost any
supposition. Of course, the old lady can live but a short time, and I
think that if she were given her own choice she would prefer to die in
her own bed. I shall advise Brooks not to let her go."
"I hope you'll not do that," said Henry, and he spoke with an
eagerness that caused the merchant to give him a look of sharp
inquiry. "I hope that you'll not seek to deprive the sister, who I
presume is a very old woman, of the pleasure of sheltering one so
closely related to her. The trip may be fatal, and yet it might be a
benefit. At any rate don't advise Brooks not to let her go."
"Oh, it's nothing to me," Witherspoon replied, "and I didn't suppose
that it was so much to the rest of you. How I do miss that old man!"
he added after musing for a few moments. "The peculiar laugh he had
when pleased became a very distressing cough whenever he fancied that
his expenses were running too high, and every day I am startled by
some noise that sounds like his hack, hack! And just as frequently I
hear his good-humored ha, ha! He had never gone away during the
summer, but he told me that this summer he was going to a
watering-place and enjoy himself. 'And, Witherspoon,' he said, 'I'm
going to spend money right and left.' Picture that old man spending
money either right or left. He would have backed out when the time
came. Some demand would have kept him at home."
"His will leaves everything to his wife, I believe," Henry remarked.
"Yes, with the proviso that at her death it is to go to Mrs. Brooks.
Brooks has already taken Colton's place in the store, and now the
question is, Who can fill Brooks' place?"
"I don't think you will have any trouble in filling it," Henry
replied. "No matter who drops out, the affairs of this life go
on just the same. A man becomes so identified with a business
that people think it couldn't be run without him. He dies, and the
business--improves."
"Yes, it appears so," Witherspoon admitted; "but what I wanted to get
at, coming straight to the point, is this: I need you now more than
ever before. One of the penalties of wealth is that a rich man is
forced constantly to fumble about in the dark, feeling for some one
whose touch may inspire confidence. That's the position I'm in."
"You make a strong appeal," said Henry, "far stronger than any
personal advantages you could point out to me."
"But is it strong enough to move you?"
"It might be strong enough to move me to a sacrifice of myself, and
still fail to draw me into a willingness to risk the opinion you have
expressed of what you term my manliness. As a business man I know that
I should be a failure, and then I'd have your pity instead of your
good opinion. Let me tell you that I am a very ordinary man. I haven't
the quickness which is a business man's enterprise, nor that judgment
which is his safeguard. My newspaper is a success, but it is mainly
because I have a capable man in the business office. It grieves me to
disappoint you, and I will take an oath that if I felt myself capable
I'd cheerfully give up journalism and place myself at your service."
"Father," said Mrs. Witherspoon--and anxiously she had been watching
her husband--"I don't see what more he could say."
"He has said quite enough," Witherspoon replied.
"But you are not angry, are you, papa?" Ellen asked.
"No, I'm hurt."
"I'm very sorry," said Henry, "but permit me to say that a man of your
strength of mind shouldn't be hurt by a present disappointment that
may serve to prevent a possible calamity in the future."
"High-sounding nonsense. I could pick up almost any bootblack and make
a good business man of him."
"But you can't pick up almost any boy and make a good bootblack of
him. The bootblack is already a business man in embryo."
Witherspoon did not reply to this statement. He mused for a few
moments and then remarked: "If it weren't too late we might make a
preacher of you."
Mrs. Witherspoon's countenance brightened. "I am sure he would make a
good one," she said. "My grandfather was a minister, and we have a
book of his sermons now, somewhere. If you want it, my son, I will get
it for you."
"Not to-night, mother."
"I didn't mean to-night. Ellen, what _are_ you giggling at?"
"Why, mother, he would rather smoke that old black pipe than to read
any book that was ever printed."
"When I saw the pipe that had robbed Kittymunks of his coat," said
Henry, "I thought of my pipe tied with a ribbon."
During the remainder of the evening Witherspoon joined not in the
conversation, he sat brooding, and when bed-time came, he stood in his
accustomed place on the hearth-rug and wound his watch, still
appearing to gaze at something far away.