WORE A ROSE ON HIS COAT.
Henry was absent nearly a week, and upon returning he did not refer to
the business that had so peremptorily called him away. Mrs.
Witherspoon still had a fear that it might be a love affair, and Ellen
had a fear that it might not be. To keep the young woman's interest
alive a mystery was necessary, and to free the mother's love from
anxiety unrestrained frankness was essential. And so there was not
enough of mystery to thrill the girl nor enough of frankness to
satisfy the mother. In this way a week was passed.
"I don't see why you make so much of it," Witherspoon said to his
wife. "Is there anything so strange in a young man's leaving town? Do
you expect him to remain forever within calling distance? He told you
that you should know in due time. What more can you ask? You are
foolishly worried over him, and what is there to worry about?"
"I suppose I am," she answered, "but I'm so much afraid that he'll
marry some girl that I shall not like."
"It's not only that, Caroline. You are simply afraid that he will
marry some girl. The fear of not liking her is a secondary anxiety."
"But, father, you know"--
"Oh, yes, I know. But he is a man--presumably," he added to
himself--"and your love cannot make him a child. It is true that we
were robbed of the pleasure his infancy would have afforded us, but
it's not true that there now exists any way by which that lost
pleasure can be supplied. As for myself, I regret the necessity that
compels me to say that he is far from being a comfort to me. What has
he brought me? Nothing but an additional cause for worry."
"Father, don't say that!"
"But I am compelled to say it. I have pointed out a career to him and
he simply bats his eyes at it. He is the most peculiar creature I ever
saw. Oh, I know he has gone through enough to make him peculiar; I
know all about that, but I don't see the sense of keeping up that
peculiarity. He is aimless, and he doesn't want an aim urged upon
him."
"But, father, he has made his newspaper a success."
"Ah, but what does it amount to? Within ten years he might make a
hundred thousand dollars out of it, but"--
"Oh, surely more than that," she insisted.
"Well, suppose he does make more than that; say that he may make two
hundred thousand. And even then what does it amount to in comparison
with what I offer?"
"But you know he wants to be independent."
"Independent!" he repeated. "I'll swear I don't understand that sort
of independence."
"Well," she said, with a consoling sigh, "it will come out all right
after a while."
They were sitting in Mrs. Witherspoon's room. The footman announced
that Mr. Brooks was waiting in the library. Witherspoon frowned.
"You needn't see him, dear," said his wife.
"Yes, I will. But I am tired and don't care to discuss business
affairs. Of late he brings nothing but bad news."
The manager was exquisitely dressed and wore a rose on the lapel of
his coat. "I am on my way to an entertainment at the Yacht Club," said
he, when the merchant entered the library, "and I thought I'd drop in
for a few moments."
"I'm glad you did," Witherspoon replied. "Sit down."
"I haven't long to stay," said Brooks, seating himself. "I am on one
of the committees and must be getting over. Is your son going?"
"I don't know. He hasn't come home yet."
"He was invited," said Brooks.
"That doesn't make any difference," Witherspoon replied. "He appears
to pay but little attention to invitations, or to anything else, for
that matter. Spends the most of his time at the Press Club, I think."
"That's singular."
"Very," said Witherspoon.
"I was there the evening they gave a reception to Patti, some time
ago," Brooke remarked, "but I didn't see anything so very attractive
about the place."
"I suppose not," Witherspoon replied, and then he added: "That's Henry
now, I think."
Henry came in and was apparently surprised to see Brooks. "I have been
detained on account of business," he remarked as he sat down. Brooks
smiled. Evidently he knew what was passing in Witherspoon's mind.
"My affairs may be light to some people," Henry said, "but they are
heavy enough to me."
By looking serious Brooks sought to mollify the effect of his smile.
He had not taken the time to think that in his sly currying of
Witherspoon's favor he might be discovered, but now that he was caught
he fell back upon the recourse of a bungling compliment. "Oh, I'm
sure," said he, "that your business is most important. Your paper
shows the care and ability with which you preside over it. I think
it's the best paper in town, and advertisers tell me that they get
excellent returns from it." Here he caught Witherspoon's eye and
hastened to add: "Still, I believe that your place is with us in the
store. You could soon make yourself master of every detail."
"But we will not talk about that now," Witherspoon spoke up.
"Of course not; but I merely mentioned it to show my belief in your
son's abilities."
The footman appeared at the door. "Two gentlemen wish to see Mr.
Brooks."
"Who are they?" Witherspoon asked.
"Wouldn't give me their names, sir."
"Some of the boys from the club," said Brooks. "Well, I must bid you
good evening."
"There was something I wanted to say to you," the merchant remarked,
walking down the hall with him.
Henry did not get up, but he listened eagerly. Presently he heard
Witherspoon exclaim: "Great God!" And a moment later the merchant came
rushing back.
"Where is my hat?" he cried. "Henry, Brooks is arrested on a charge of
murdering Colton! Where is my hat?"
Henry got up, placed his hand on Witherspoon's shoulder, and said:
"Sit down here, father."
"Sit down the devil!" he raved. "I tell you that Brooks has been
arrested. I am going down-town."
"Not to-night. Sit down here."
"What do you mean, sir!"
"I mean that you must not go down-town. You can do no good by going,
Brooks is guilty. There is no doubt about it."
The old man dropped in his chair. Mrs. Witherspoon came running into
the room. "What on earth is the matter?" she cried. Witherspoon
struggled to his feet. Henry caught him by the arm. "Mother, don't be
alarmed. Brooks has simply been arrested."
"For the murder of Colton!" Witherspoon hoarsely whispered. His voice
had failed him.
"Sit down, mother, and we will talk quietly about it. There is no
cause for excitement when you make up your minds that the fellow is
guilty, which you must do, for Mrs. Colton has made a statement--she
saw Brooks kill the old man."
Witherspoon dropped in his chair. His hands hung listlessly beside
him. Mrs. Witherspoon ran to him.
"Father!"
He lifted his hand, a heavy weight it seemed, and motioned her away.
"The Colossus is ruined!" he hoarsely whispered. "Ruined. They'll try
to mix me up in it. Ruined!"
"You can't be mixed up in it, and the Colossus will not be ruined,"
Henry replied.
"Yes, ruined. You haven't brought me anything but bad luck."
"I have brought you the best luck of your life. I have helped you to
get rid of a vampire."
"You have?" He turned his lusterless eyes upon Henry.
"Yes, I have, and if you will be patient for a few moments I will make
it plain to you. But wait, you must not think of going down-town
to-night. Will you listen to me?"
"Yes."
"I was not the only one who suspected that Brooks had something to do
with the murder. Many people, in fact--it seemed that almost everybody
placed him under suspicion. But there was no evidence against him;
there was nothing but a strong supposition. You remember one evening
not long ago when Ellen said that he objected to the preacher's coming
to pray for Mrs. Colton. This was enough to stamp him a brute. Give
that sort of a man the nerve and he won't stop short of any cruelty or
any crime."
"Are you going to tell me something or do you simply intend to
preach?" Witherspoon asked. His voice had returned.
"Father, he's telling you as fast as he can."
"And I must tell it my own way," Henry said. "That same evening I
learned the name of the doctor--the great specialist employed by
Brooks to treat the old lady. But I inquired about him and found that
he was simply a cheap quack. This was additional cause for suspicion.
I called on a detective and told him that I suspected Brooks. At this
he smiled. Then I said that if he would agree to give half the reward
to any charity that I might name, in the event of success, I would
submit my plan, and then he became serious. I convinced him that I had
not only a plausible but a direct clue, and he agreed to my proposal.
I then told him about the doctor; I expressed my belief that the old
woman must know something and urged that this might be brought out if
we could get her away and place her under the proper treatment. Well,
we learned that she had a sister living in New Jersey. The detective
went to see her, and you know the result--the old lady's removal.
Recently we received word that she was so much improved that she could
mumble in a way to be understood, and last week the detective and I
went to see her. This was my apparently inconsistent business out of
town."
"But tell us what she said," Witherspoon demanded.
"Her deposition is in the hands of the law." He said this with a sly
pleasure--Witherspoon had so often spoken of the law as if it were his
agent. "I can simply tell you," Henry continued, "that she saw Brooks
when he shot the old man."
"But how can that be? Brooks and his wife ran into the room at the
same time. They were together."
"Yes, they ran into the room together, and Brooks had presumably just
jumped out of bed. But be that as it may, Mrs. Colton saw him when he
shot the old man. And if he is guilty, why should you defend him?"
Witherspoon got up. "You are not going down-town, father," his wife
pleaded. "George, you must not go!"
"I'm not going, Caroline." He began to walk up and down the room, but
not with his wonted firmness of step. They said nothing to him; they
let him walk in his troubled silence. Turning suddenly he would
sometimes confront Henry and seem about to denounce him; and then he
was strong. But the next moment, and as if weakened by an
instantaneous failure of vital forces, he would helplessly turn to his
wife as though she could give him strength.
"Don't let it worry you so, father," she begged of him; "don't let it
worry you so. It will come out all right. Nobody can fasten any blame
on you."
"Yes, they will--yes, they will, the wretches. They hate me; they
bleed me every chance they get, and now they want to humble me--ruin
me. Nobody can ever know what I have gone through. Defend him!" he
exclaimed. "I hope they will hang him. I suspected him, and yet I was
afraid to, for in some way it seemed to involve me--I don't know how.
But I knew that the wretches would fix it up and ruin the Colossus.
For weeks and weeks it has been gnawing me like a rat. But what could
I do? I was afraid to discharge him. He's got a running tongue. But
what have I done?" he violently asked himself. "He took Colton's
place--held Colton's interest. I could do nothing. Sometimes I felt
that he was surely innocent. But I fancied that I could hear
mutterings whenever I passed people in the street, and the rat would
begin its gnawing again. He will drag us all down." His voice failed
him, and he sank in his chair. "Ruined! The Colossus is ruined!" he
hoarsely whispered.
"If you would stop to think," said Henry, "you would know that your
trouble is mostly physical. Your nerves are unstrung. The public is
not so willing to believe any story that Brooks may tell. The Colossus
will not be injured. But I know that you place very little faith in
what I say." The merchant looked at him. "But mark my words: Your
standing will not be lowered--the Colossus will not show any ill
effect. It is too big a concern to be thus ruined. People trade there
for bargains, and not out of sentiment. In a short time Brooks will be
forgotten. It is perfectly clear to me."
"Is it?" he asked, with eagerness. "Is it clear to you?"
"Yes, perfectly."
"Then make it clear to me. You can't do it, don't you see? You can't
do it."
"Yes, he can, father; yes, he can," Mrs. Witherspoon pleaded. "It is
perfectly clear to me. You will look at it differently to-morrow.
Come, now, and lie down. Sleep will make it clear. Come on, now."
She took hold of his arm. With a helpless trust he looked up at her.
"Come on, now." He lifted his heavy hands, got up with difficulty and
suffered her to lead him away.