TOLD HIM A STORY.
At the appointed time, the next day, George Witherspoon was waiting in
his library. DeGolyer came in a cab, and when he got out, he told the
driver to wait.
"Where is your friend?" Witherspoon asked as DeGolyer entered the
room.
"He'll be here within a few minutes."
"Confound him, I'm getting sick of his peculiarities."
The merchant sat down; DeGolyer stood on the hearth-rug. The time was
come, and he had been strong, but now a shiver crept over him.
"My friend told me a singular story to-day."
"I don't doubt it; and if his stories are as singular as he is, they
must he marvelous."
"This story _is_ marvelous, and I think it would interest you. I will
give it to you briefly. There were two young men in a foreign
country"--
"I wish he was in a foreign country. I can't wait here all day."
"He'll be here soon. These two friends were on their way to the sea
coast, and here's where it will strike you. One of them had been
stolen when he was a child, and was now going back to his parents. But
before they reached the coast, the rich man's son--as we'll call the
one who had been stolen--was stricken with a fever. No ship was in
port, and his friend took him to a hotel and got a doctor for him."
"Wish you'd hand me a match," said Witherspoon. "My cigar's out. Thank
you."
"Got a doctor for him, but he grew worse. Sometimes he was delirious,
but at times his mind was strangely clear; and once, when he was
rational, he told his friend that he was going to die. He didn't
appear to care very much so far as it concerned himself, but the
thought of the grief that his death would cause his parents seemed to
lie as a cold weight upon his mind. And it was then that he made a
most peculiar request. He compelled his friend to promise to take his
name; to go to his home; to be a son to his father and mother. His
friend begged, but had to yield. Well, the rich man's son died, we'll
suppose, and the poor fellow took his name on the spot. He had to
leave hurriedly, for a father and a mother and a sister were waiting
in a distant home. A ship that had just come was ready to sail, and a
month might pass before the landing of another vessel. He went to
these people as their son"--
"Oh, yes," said Witherspoon, "and fell in love with the sister, and
then had to tell his story."
"No, he didn't. He loved the girl, but only as a brother should. He
was not wholly acceptable to his father, but"--
"Ah, that's all very well," said Witherspoon, "but what proof had he?"
DeGolyer met Witherspoon's careless look and held it with a firm gaze.
And slowly raising his hand, he said: "He held up a gold chain."
Witherspoon sprang to his feet and exclaimed: "My God, he's crazy!"
"Wait!"
The merchant had turned toward the door. He halted and looked back.
"George Witherspoon"--
"I thought so--crazy. Merciful God, he's mad!"
"Will you listen to me for a moment--just a moment--and I will prove
to you that I'm not crazy. I am not your son--my name is Henry
DeGolyer. Wait, I tell you!" Witherspoon had staggered against the
door-case. "I am not your son, but your son is not dead. I took his
place; I thought it a promise made to a dying man."
"What!" he whispered. His voice was gone. "You--you"--
DeGolyer ran to him and eased him into his chair. "Your son is here,
and the man who has brought nothing but ill luck will leave you. I
tried to soften this, but couldn't," Witherspoon's head shook as he
looked up at him. "Wait a moment, and I will call him. No, don't get
up."
DeGolyer hastened to the front door, and standing on the steps, he
called: "Henry! oh, Henry!"
"All right, Hank."
Young Witherspoon got out of the cab and came up the steps.
"He is waiting for you, Henry." And speaking to the footman, DeGolyer
added: "There's nothing the matter. Send those girls about their
business."
Young Witherspoon followed DeGolyer into the library. The merchant was
standing with his shaky hands on the back of a chair. He stepped
forward and tried to speak, but failed.
"I'm your son. Hank did as I told him. It's all right. I've had a
fever--he's going to fall, Hank!"
They eased him down into his leather-covered chair.
"I see it now," the old man muttered. "Yes, I can see it. Come here."
The young man leaned over and put his arms about his father's neck. "I
will go into the store with you when I get just a little stronger--I
will do anything you want me to. I've had an awful time--awful--but
it's all right now. Hank found me in New Orleans, scrubbing a floor;
but it's all right now."
"I'll get him some brandy," said DeGolyer.
"No," Witherspoon objected, "I'll be myself in a minute. Never was so
shocked in my life. Who ever heard of such a thing? Of course you
couldn't soften it. Let me look at you, my son. How do I know what to
believe? No, there's no mistake now."
He got up, and holding the young man's hands, stood looking at him.
"Who's that?" he asked.
They heard voices. Mrs. Witherspoon and Ellen were coming down the
hall. DeGolyer stepped hastily to the door.
"Oh, what are you doing here?" Ellen cried. "I saw somebody--Miss
Miller. She didn't say so, but I know that she wants me to kiss you
for her, and I will."
"Ellen!" Witherspoon exclaimed, and just then she saw that a stranger
was present.
"Excuse me," she said.
DeGolyer took her by the hand, and as Mrs. Witherspoon came up he held
out his other hand to her. He led them both to the threshold of the
library, gently drew them into the room, and quickly stepping out,
closed the door and hastened upstairs.
As he entered his room he thought that he heard a cry, and he
listened, but naught save a throbbing silence came from below. He sat
down, put his arms on the table, and his head lay an aching weight
upon his arms. After a time he got up, and taking his traveling-bag
from a closet, began to pack it. There was his old pipe, still with a
ribbon tied about the stem. He waited a long time and then went
down-stairs. The library door was closed, and gently he rapped upon
it. Witherspoon's voice bade him enter.
Mrs. Witherspoon was sitting on a sofa; young Henry was on his knees,
and his head was in her lap. Witherspoon and Ellen were standing near.
"He is like my father's people," the mother said, fondly stroking his
hair. "All the Springers were light." She looked at DeGolyer, and her
eyes were soft, but for him they no longer held the glow of a mother's
love. DeGolyer put down his bag near the door.
"Mr. Witherspoon, I hardly know what to say. I came to this house as a
lie, but I shall leave it as a truth. I"--
"Hank!" young Henry cried, getting up, "you ain't going away. You are
going to stay here."
He ran to DeGolyer, seized his hand, and leading him to Ellen, said:
"I have caught you a prince. Take him." And DeGolyer, smiling sadly,
replied, "I love her as a brother." She held out her hands to him. "I
could never think of you as anything else," she said.
"But you must not leave us," Mrs. Witherspoon declared, coming
forward.
"Yes, my mission here is ended."
"You shan't go, Hank," young Witherspoon cried.
"Henry," said DeGolyer, "I did as you requested. Now it is your time
to obey. Keep quiet!" He stood erect; he had the bearing of a master.
He turned to Witherspoon. "Here is a check for the amount of money you
advanced me, with interest added."
Witherspoon stepped back. "I refuse to take it," he said.
"But you _shall_ take it. I have sold the paper at a profit, and it
has made money almost from the first. Do as I tell you. Take this
check."
The merchant took the check, and it shook in his hand. DeGolyer now
addressed Mrs. Witherspoon. "You have indeed been a mother to me. No
gentler being ever lived, and till the day of my death I shall
remember you with affection."
"Oh, this is all so strange!" she cried, weeping.
"Yes, but everything is strange, when we come to think of it. God
bless you. Sister,"--Ellen gave him her hands,--"good-by."
He kissed the girl, and then kissed Mrs. Witherspoon. Henry came
toward him, but DeGolyer stopped him with a wave of his hand. "My dear
boy, I'm not going out of the world. No, you mustn't grab hold of me.
Stand where you are. You shall hear from me. Mr. Witherspoon, this
time you must get up a statement without my help--I mean for the
newspapers. I know that I have caused you a great deal of worry, but
it is a pretty hard matter to live a lie even when it is imposed as a
duty. By the way, a poor sea captain, Atkins is his name, brought
Henry from Dura. I wish you would send him a check, care Wharfmaster,
New Orleans."
"I will."
"Good-by, Mr. Witherspoon."
"Henry DeGolyer," said Witherspoon, grasping his hand, "you are the
most honorable man I ever met."
"There, now!" DeGolyer cried, holding up his hand--they all were
coming toward him--"do as I tell you and remain where you are."
He caught up his bag and hastened out. "To the _Star_ office," he said
to the cabman.