Peter put down his hat and stick, went up to the artist and stood in
front of him squarely and without fear. "You're going to withdraw what
you said last night."
"You think so?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because it was unjust and no man is hanged in these times before he's
given a chance to defend himself."
"No one is going to hang you, Peter Guthrie. You've hanged yourself."
"No, no," said Peter, "that won't do. It isn't like you to adopt this
attitude and I must ask you to treat me properly."
Townsend shot out a short laugh. "There's no need for you to ask me to
do that. My treatment of you is going to be so proper that this is going
to be the last time you'll come into this studio. I've done with you. So
far as I'm concerned you're over. Betty isn't going to see you or hear
from you again. I consider that it was a mighty good accident that took
me into Fortieth Street last night. That's all I have to say."
Peter didn't budge. He just squared his shoulders and tilted his chin a
little more. "I don't think that's all you've got to say," he said. "I
quite understand that you had a bad shock when you saw me coming out of
that place last night. If I were in your shoes I should say just what
you're saying now."
"It's something to win your approval," said Townsend, sarcastically,
"and I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you for coming down town to give
me your praise."
"Oh, don't talk like that," said Peter. "It doesn't do any good and it
doesn't help to clear things up."
"You can't clear things up. Neither of us can. You began by lying to me
when you said you had a business engagement, and you wound up by coming
out drunk of the rottenest house in this city. And, see here! I don't
like your tone. I'm not standing here to be reproved by you for my
attitude in this matter. I might be more inclined to give you a chance
if you made a clean breast of it."
"I wish I could," said Peter, "but I can't. All I can tell you is that I
had to go to that place last night for a very good reason. I'd never
been there before and I shall never go there again. I hadn't even heard
of the place until a few days ago. You've got to accept my word of
honour that I went there with a friend of mine to get a man who means a
very great deal to me out of bad trouble."
"It's taken you sometime to think that out," said Townsend, brutally.
Peter winced as if he had been struck. He had gone to the studio under
the belief that everything would be quite easy. He was honest. His
conscience was clear. He was not a liar. Surely his word would be
accepted. Whatever happened he wasn't going to be disloyal to his
brother. Apart from the fact that he had sworn not to give Graham away,
he wasn't the kind that blabbed. He tried again, still keeping himself
well under control, although he was unable to hide the fact that Ranken
Townsend's utter disbelief in him hurt deeply.
"Mr. Townsend," he said, "I don't want to do anything to make you more
angry than you are. It's perfectly simple for you to say that you won't
have me marry Betty. But remember this: I've only got to go to Betty and
ask her to marry me, with or without your consent, and she will. If you
don't believe me, you don't know Betty."
"Ah! but that's exactly where you make your mistake," said Townsend. "I
_do_ know Betty. And let me tell you this, Peter Guthrie: My girl has
been brought up. She hasn't been dragged up or allowed to bring herself
up. The consequence is that she's not among the army of present-day
girls who look upon their fathers and mothers as any old trash to be
swept aside and over-ridden whenever it suits them to do so. I'm the man
to whom she owes all the happiness and comfort that she's known. I'm the
man who's proud to be responsible for her, to whom she belongs and who
knows a wide stretch more of life and its troubles than she does,--and,
not being an empty-headed, individualistic, precocious little fool, she
knows it too. She belongs to a past decade--to an old-fashioned family.
Therefore, what I say goes; and if I tell her that, for a very good
reason, I don't want her to have anything to do with you, she will be
desperately unhappy, but she'll not question my authority or my right to
say so. These are facts, however absurd and strange they may appear to
you. I think it would be a damned good thing if other fathers took the
trouble to get on the same footing with their daughters. There'd be less
unhappiness and fewer grave mistakes if they did." He was almost on the
verge of adding, "Look at your sister Belle if you don't believe me."
Peter had nothing to say.
The two men stood facing one another, gravely, in silence. They were
both moved and stirred. And then Peter nodded. "I'm glad you're Betty's
father," he said at last. "She owes you more than she can ever pay
back. I give you my word that I shan't attempt to dispute your
authority. I respect you, Mr. Townsend, and when I marry Betty I want to
have your consent and approval. I also give you my word that it was
absolutely necessary for me to go to Papowsky's last night, without any
explanation whatever. Are you going to take it?"
"No," said Townsend; "I'm not. Even if I'd known you for years what you
ask is too much for me to swallow. Good Lord, man! can't you see that
I'm protecting my daughter--the one person I love in this world--the one
person whose happiness means more to me than anything on earth? Why
should I believe that you're different from other young men,--the
average young man whom I see every day, who no more cares about going
clean to the woman he is going to marry than he does for running
straight afterwards? I don't know you and hitherto I've accepted you on
your face value. When it comes to the question of a man's trusting his
daughter to the first person who comes and asks him for her, he's got to
be pretty sure of what he's doing. In any case, I don't hold with the
old saying that 'young men will be young men.' You may sow your wild
oats if you like, but they're not going to blossom in the garden of a
little girl who belongs to me. In that respect I'm as narrow-minded as a
Quaker. And let me tell you this finally: I know the sort of place that
Papowsky's is. I know what goes on there and the sort of people who
frequent it. To my mind any man who's seen coming out of it does for
himself as the future husband of any good girl. If you have, as you say,
a good reason for going there, tell it to me. If not, get out."
The artist had said these things with intense feeling. Hard as they
were, Peter had to acknowledge that they were right. Just for one
instant he wavered. He was on the point of giving the whole story away.
Then his loyalty to his brother came back to him. He would rather be
shot than go back on the man who had trusted him and with whom he had
grown up with such deep affection. "Very well," he said, "that settles
it. I've nothing more to say. But one of these days I'll prove that my
word of honor was worth taking. In the meantime, you can't stop me from
loving Betty and you'll never be able to stop Betty from loving me."
He turned on his heel, took up his hat and stick and went out.