VI

With his hand on the handle of the door, the Doctor paused. "I want you

to call me to-morrow at half-past-seven, Alfred. Don't forget. I have a

busy day. Good-night."

The two boys watched him come into the room. His head was high and there

was a little smile round his usually straight mouth. He walked with a

sort of sprightliness, as though moving to music. He looked

extraordinarily young and exhilarated.

He saw what was to him a most unusual sight in that quiet, lonely

work-room. He was surprised into an exclamation of great pleasure, and

he quickened his pace until he stood between his sons. Graham got up and

put on a nervous, polite smile. "This's what I most wanted," said the

Doctor,--"my two boys waiting for me here in this room. I can't tell

you--I can't tell you, Peter, and Graham, how often, how strongly, how

eagerly I've wished to see you where you are now. I can't tell you how

I've longed to have you here after my meetings, to tell you how I'm

getting on, moving things forward, and to ask you share in my successes.

My dear Peter--my dear Graham."

It was pitiful. The strange, almost incoherent outbreak of the shy man

nearly made Peter burst into tears. He would almost rather his father

had treated them coldly and with raised eyebrows. His present

attitude--his unhidden joy--his eager, and even wistful welcome, had in

it something of tragedy, because it showed all the waste of years during

which the sympathy and the complete, necessary and beautiful

understanding of these three might have been welded into one great,

insurmountable rock.

The Doctor, with an obvious desire to play host,--an intuition which

again touched Peter deeply,--went quickly to a little chest which stood

in a corner of the room. "What will you have?" he asked anxiously. "I've

got a very good cigar here, or cigarettes if you would like them better.

Let me see! What do you smoke, Peter?"

"He doesn't even know what I smoke," thought Peter. "A pipe," he said.

"Oh, yes, yes! Well, this is generally said to be a very good mixture.

Try some." He gave a jar of tobacco to Peter. "These are nice, though

perhaps they are a little too dry." And he extended a box of cigars to

Graham.

The boy helped himself, trying to keep his hand steady. "Thank you," he

said.

"And now," said the Doctor, "let's sit down and have a long yarn. Shall

we? I would like to tell you about to-night. The meeting was of vital

interest and importance." He drew his chair forward so that it might be

between those of the two boys. He looked from Peter's face to Graham's

as though afraid that he was asking too great a favour. "You--you'll

forgive my talking about myself, I'm sure--at least I hope you will. I

so seldom have the opportunity,--with those I love, I mean--with those

for whom I'm working. To see you here like this, at last, makes me very

happy." He slipped his large glasses off and wiped them openly without

attempting to hide the fact that they had become suddenly useless to

him.

A short silence followed--a silence in which the emotion with which the

room was charged could almost be heard. Peter threw a quick glance round

it, almost as though he expected to see the curious experimental tubes

turn and point accusingly at his brother. The laboratory was filled with

such tubes and other curious instruments,--all of them silent witnesses

of Graham's act of madness.

The Doctor re-lit his cigar, put his glasses on again and clasped his

long, capable hands over one thin knee. "I wish I could even suggest to

you," he said--more naturally and with keen enthusiasm--"the intense

excitement that we bacteriologists are all beginning to feel. For years

and years we've been experimenting, and little by little our work is

coming to a definite head. Every time we meet we find that we've moved a

step further on the road to discoveries. It makes me laugh to think that

my early theories, which, only a few years ago, were scoffed at and

looked upon as dreams, are taking shape. It's been a long, uphill fight.

Science is beginning to win. It's all very wonderful." He noticed that

Graham's cigar had gone out. With extreme politeness, such as a man

would use to very welcome guests, he held out a box of matches.

The boy took it. "I don't feel like smoking," he said, with a catch in

his voice.

Something in his tone made the Doctor peer closely at him. "You look

pale, my dear lad," he said, "pale and tired. Aren't you well?"

"Oh, yes; he's perfectly all right," said Peter hurriedly, trying to

steer his father to another subject.

Graham threw his cigar away. "I'm not!" he cried, with a sudden,

uncontrollable outburst. "I feel as rotten as I am. I can't sit here and

listen to you, father. Don't be kind to me, I can't stand it." He put

his head down between his hands and burst out crying like a boy.

The Doctor was startled. He got up quickly and stood hesitatingly. He

wanted to put his hands on the boy's shoulders, but the sudden breakdown

brought back his shyness. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Peter, do you

know?"

Peter nodded. He then made up his mind to let things take their course.

"Let him tell you," he said. "This may be the turning point for all

three of us."

Graham drew the cheque-book out of his pocket, opened it and threw it on

the desk under the reading lamp. "Look!" he said. "That's what I've come

to."

For some moments the Doctor saw nothing but a cheque drawn by himself in

favor of his second son for three thousand dollars. The fact that he

didn't remember having made it out, and the fact that it was for so

large a sum made at first no impression upon him. He was so puzzled and

so taken back at the sudden outburst of emotion which had broken up what

he hoped was going to be a charming reunion that the sight of this

cheque conveyed nothing to him. Both his sons watched him closely, not

knowing what he would say or do. He was such a stranger to them--his

feelings and characteristics were so unknown to them that they found

themselves speculating as to the manner in which he would take this

dreadful piece of dishonesty. A great surprise was in store for them.

When the Doctor realized what had been done,--that the signature on the

cheque was not his own, although it was very cleverly copied,--they saw

him wince and shut his eyes. After a moment of peculiar hesitation he

drew his chair up to the desk and sat down. Holding his breath, Peter

watched him tear the cheque out and quietly make out another for

precisely the same amount. Then the Doctor got up and stood in front of

Graham with the new cheque in his hand. All the sprightliness and

exhilaration with which he had entered the room had left him. He looked

old and thin and humble. His shoulders stooped a little and the cheque

trembled in his hand.

"Am I such an ogre that my children are afraid to bring their troubles

to me?" he said, in a broken voice. "What have I ever done to deserve

this, Graham? You'd only to come to me and say that you needed money and

I'd have given it to you. Who am I working for? For whom have I always

worked?" He held out the cheque. "Take it, and if that isn't enough ask

me for more. I'd like to know why it is that you need it, if you'll be

good enough to tell me; but, for God's sake, don't hurt me like this

again."

Without a word--without, indeed, being able to find a word,--infinitely

more crushed by this kindness than he would have been by an outburst of

anger and reproach,--Graham took the cheque, turned on his heel and left

the room, walking like a drunken man.

Peter watched him go. There was a feeling of great relief in his heart.

Nothing that he could have done or said--nothing that Kenyon could have

said in his most forcible manner, with all the weight of sophistication

behind it, could have pulled Graham up and set him on a new path so well

as the unexpected generosity of his father and the few pathetic words

with which he underlined it.

But when Peter turned round to his father with the intention of taking

him, for the first time, into his confidence and treating him as he

would have treated Ranken Townsend under the same circumstances, he saw

that the Doctor was crumpled up in his chair with his hands over his

face and his shoulders shaking with sobs, and so he held his peace; and

instead of obtaining the help that he needed so much he put his strong

arm round his father in a strange protective way, as though he were the

stronger man.

"Oh, don't, father," he said. "Please don't."