To be lifted, suddenly, from poverty to wealth, is delightful.
Especially delightful when preceded by a preliminary course of
self-denial. For Cyrus and his father there was now an end, at last, to
the orthodox but discordant partnership between Pride and Want.
Vaulting ambition has its uses. So have rags and hunger. And there are
times, as in the case of Cyrus, when they pull together. But now had
come the harvest. And the prosperity was real: the checks from the
Senior Partner were not a dream.
"No more cheap food and shiny clothes for us," said Cyrus to his
father. "Me for gluttony; canvas backs three times a day; Burgundy and
dollar cigars. And brand new raiment every morning!"
Dr. Alton nodded. "Yes, that's a good program. A change, even from bad
to worse, is often beneficial. Had you been brought up on canvas backs
and Burgundy, you might have yearned for water and dried apples."
One of the first things Cyrus did was to visit Mrs. Eagan. The great
desire of her life had been to revisit Ireland, but she never could
save enough money. She had tried in vain to sell her little cottage
with its two acres of land. Now came a purchaser. For the acre farthest
from the house, for which there never had been a bid, Cyrus paid her
three thousand dollars. And the happy Mrs. Eagan went to Ireland. He
did other things, equally unbusinesslike. Some for his old friends;
some for the town itself.
As for the Great Discovery both Cyrus and his father were of one
opinion--that it never must be made public: that the secret must die.
One of many reasons was, that with such a power in irresponsible hands
no man's property, and no man himself, would be secure. What safety
for a law abiding citizen when any criminal could purchase for a few
dollars and carry in his hand, or pocket, a weapon of unlimited energy
and force? The burglar or the highwayman could either escape at will or
send his victim into farthest space.
He had various kinds of fun with his money. But he was no fool with it.
He had been too intimate with debt, half-rations and shabby raiment to
renew, voluntarily, the old acquaintance. But the greatest satisfaction
of all was the prospect of bringing a long deferred pleasure to his
father. Dr. Alton had spoken in years gone by of a trip to Europe. And
now he could have it. Moreover, this trip abroad, according to Cyrus,
was to be such a new departure in activity and leisure, in wisdom and
extravagance, as to startle Europe.
"We'll make Croesus look like thirty cents--and Lucullus a skinflint."
But Fate, brainless Fate, whose rewards and punishments seem random
shots, stepped in between. And the blow that came to Cyrus was the
hardest in his life.
To the people of Longfields there was mystery in certain periods of Dr.
Alton's past. Those seven years abroad were secret history. The little
son and his unknown mother had invited explanation. But explanations
were not offered. Moreover, it was soon realized by his neighbors that
Dr. Alton's private affairs were his own, and were not for publication.
But people had surely a right to wonder why a physician with his
exceptional education and opportunities should give so little thought
to distinction in larger fields and prefer obscurity in a forgotten
little village.
Miss Anita Clement and some other women believed that this handsome
young doctor had been the victim of a blighting passion; that his
heart, if not broken, had received a wound that never healed. But all
that was speculative.
Of some things, however, they were sure. One was that his gentle
manner, his never failing help and kindness to poor and prosperous
alike, had resulted in a sincere affection for him, not only in
Longfields itself but in the neighboring villages. To every member of
the little community in which he lived and worked for nearly thirty
years his death was a personal loss.
To Cyrus, this sudden, unexpected ending was a blow that stunned.
Many days were to pass before he fully realized how irreparable was
his loss. That his father's death should come when it did made sorrow
doubly keen. Of what good this sudden wealth when his best friend,
after these years of economy and self sacrifice, was not here to enjoy
it? And that trip abroad together--only a month away!
Cyrus had this consolation, however, that the end was free from
suffering.
An hour before his death--in a sunny November afternoon--his father was
reclining comfortably in his easy chair when he told Cyrus where to
find a package of letters in the further corner of a certain drawer in
his desk. Cyrus brought them. Then he sat by his father's side and, as
the letters, after being read, were handed him, one by one, he dropped
them into the fire. Some were limp and worn from many readings. With
them was a photograph of a woman's face. After a moment's hesitation
Dr. Alton handed it to his son.
"That's your mother, Cyrus."
With unspeakable emotion the son gazed upon this face. Her eyes looked
straight into his own. They were deep, dark, tragic--yet smiling. It
seemed to Cyrus that he had always known this face--and loved it. He
gazed in silence, overcome by feelings quite different from anything he
had heretofore experienced. His father's voice recalled him to himself.
The voice was becoming weaker.
"Destroy this picture, Cyrus. If you ever meet her keep your knowledge
to yourself. Let her be the first--to greet you."
So low was his voice that Cyrus bent forward to get his words.
"Remember, always remember, she is a good woman."
Dr. Alton leaned back and closed his eyes.