"What!" exclaimed Shirley, changing colour, "you believe that John
Burkett Ryder is at the bottom of this infamous accusation against
father?"
It was the day following her arrival at Massapequa, and Shirley,
the judge and Stott were all three sitting on the porch. Until
now, by common consent, any mention of the impeachment proceedings
had been avoided by everyone. The previous afternoon and evening
had been spent listening to an account of Shirley's experiences in
Europe and a smile had flitted across even the judge's careworn
face as his daughter gave a humorous description of the
picturesque Paris students with their long hair and peg-top
trousers, while Stott simply roared with laughter. Ah, it was good
to laugh again after so much trouble and anxiety! But while
Shirley avoided the topic that lay nearest her heart, she was
consumed with a desire to tell her father of the hope she had of
enlisting the aid of John Burkett Ryder. The great financier was
certainly able to do anything he chose, and had not his son
Jefferson promised to win him over to their cause? So, to-day,
after Mrs. Rossmore and her sister had gone down to the village to
make some purchases Shirley timidly broached the matter. She asked
Stott and her father to tell her everything, to hold back nothing.
She wanted to hear the worst.
Stott, therefore, started to review the whole affair from the
beginning, explaining how her father in his capacity as Judge of
the Supreme Court had to render decisions, several of which were
adverse to the corporate interests of a number of rich men, and
how since that time these powerful interests had used all their
influence to get him put off the Bench. He told her about the
Transcontinental case and how the judge had got mysteriously
tangled up in the Great Northern Mining Company, and of the
scandalous newspaper rumours, followed by the news of the
Congressional inquiry. Then he told her about the panic in Wall
Street, the sale of the house on Madison Avenue and the removal to
Long Island.
"That is the situation," said Stott when he had finished. "We are
waiting now to see what the Senate will do. We hope for the best.
It seems impossible that the Senate will condemn a man whose whole
life is like an open book, but unfortunately the Senate is
strongly Republican and the big interests are in complete control.
Unless support comes from some unexpected quarter we must be
prepared for anything."
Support from some unexpected quarter! Stott's closing words rang
in Shirley's head. Was that not just what she had to offer? Unable
to restrain herself longer and her heart beating tumultuously from
suppressed emotion, she cried:
"We'll have that support! We'll have it! I've got it already! I
wanted to surprise you! Father, the most powerful man in the
United States will save you from being dishonoured!"
The two men leaned forward in eager interest. What could the girl
mean? Was she serious or merely jesting?
But Shirley was never more serious in her life. She was jubilant
at the thought that she had arrived home in time to invoke the aid
of this powerful ally. She repeated enthusiastically:
"We need not worry any more. He has but to say a word and these
proceedings will be instantly dropped. They would not dare act
against his veto. Did you hear, father, your case is as good as
won!"
"What do you mean, child? Who is this unknown friend?"
"Surely you can guess when I say the most powerful man in the
United States? None other than John Burkett Ryder!"
She stopped short to watch the effect which this name would have
on her hearers. But to her surprise neither her father nor Stott
displayed the slightest emotion or even interest. Puzzled at this
cold reception, she repeated:
"Did you hear, father--John Burkett Ryder will come to your
assistance. I came home on the same ship as his son and he
promised to secure his father's aid."
The judge puffed heavily at his pipe and merely shook his head,
making no reply. Stott explained:
"We can't look for help from that quarter, Shirley. You don't
expect a man to cut loose his own kite, do you?"
"What do you mean?" demanded Shirley, mystified.
"Simply this--that John Burkett Ryder is the very man who is
responsible for all your father's misfortunes."
The girl sank back in her seat pale and motionless, as if she had
received a blow. Was it possible? Could Jefferson's father have
done them such a wrong as this? She well knew that Ryder, Sr., was
a man who would stop at nothing to accomplish his purpose--this
she had demonstrated conclusively in her book--but she had never
dreamed that his hand would ever be directed against her own flesh
and blood. Decidedly some fatality was causing Jefferson and
herself to drift further and further apart. First, her father's
trouble. That alone would naturally have separated them. And now
this discovery that Jefferson's father had done hers this wrong.
All idea of marriage was henceforth out of the question. That was
irrevocable. Of course, she could not hold Jefferson to blame for
methods which he himself abhorred. She would always think as much
of him as ever, but whether her father emerged safely from the
trial in the Senate or not--no matter what the outcome of the
impeachment proceedings might be, Jefferson could never be
anything else than a Ryder and from now on there would be an
impassable gulf between the Rossmores and the Ryders. The dove
does not mate with the hawk.
"Do you really believe this, that John Ryder deliberately
concocted the bribery charge with the sole purpose of ruining my
father?" demanded Shirley when she had somewhat recovered.
"There is no other solution of the mystery possible," answered Stott.
"The Trusts found they could not fight him in the open, in a fair,
honest way, so they plotted in the dark. Ryder was the man who had
most to lose by your father's honesty on the bench. Ryder was the man
he hit the hardest when he enjoined his Transcontinental Railroad.
Ryder, I am convinced, is the chief conspirator."
"But can such things be in a civilized community?" cried Shirley
indignantly. "Cannot he be exposed, won't the press take the
matter up, cannot we show conspiracy?"
"It sounds easy, but it isn't," replied Stott. "I have had a heap
of experience with the law, my child, and I know what I'm talking
about. They're too clever to be caught tripping. They've covered
their tracks well, be sure of that. As to the newspapers--when did
you ever hear of them championing a man when he's down?"
"And you, father--do you believe Ryder did this?"
"I have no longer any doubt of it," answered the judge. "I think
John Ryder would see me dead before he would raise a finger to
help me. His answer to my demand for my letters convinced me that
he was the arch plotter."
"What letters do you refer to?" demanded Shirley.
"The letters I wrote to him in regard to my making an investment.
He advised the purchase of certain stock. I wrote him two letters
at the time, which letters if I had them now would go a long way
to clearing me of this charge of bribery, for they plainly showed
that I regarded the transaction as a _bona fide_ investment. Since
this trouble began I wrote to Ryder asking him to return me these
letters so I might use them in my defence. The only reply I got
was an insolent note from his secretary saying that Mr. Ryder had
forgotten all about the transaction, and in any case had not the
letters I referred to."
"Couldn't you compel him to return them?" asked Shirley.
"We could never get at him," interrupted Stott. "The man is
guarded as carefully as the Czar."
"Still," objected Shirley, "it is possible that he may have lost
the letters or even never received them."
"Oh, he has them safe enough," replied Stott. "A man like Ryder
keeps every scrap of paper, with the idea that it may prove useful
some day. The letters are lying somewhere in his desk. Besides,
after the Transcontinental decision he was heard to say that he'd
have Judge Rossmore off the Bench inside of a year."
"And it wasn't a vain boast--he's done it," muttered the judge.
Shirley relapsed into silence. Her brain was in a whirl. It was
true then. This merciless man of money, this ogre of monopolistic
corporations, this human juggernaut had crushed her father merely
because by his honesty he interfered with his shady business
deals! Ah, why had she spared him in her book? She felt now that
she had been too lenient, not bitter enough, not sufficiently
pitiless. Such a man was entitled to no mercy. Yes, it was all
clear enough now. John Burkett Ryder, the head of "the System,"
the plutocrat whose fabulous fortune gave him absolute control
over the entire country, which invested him with a personal power
greater than that of any king, this was the man who now dared
attack the Judiciary, the corner stone of the Constitution, the
one safeguard of the people's liberty. Where would it end? How
long would the nation tolerate being thus ruthlessly trodden under
the unclean heels of an insolent oligarchy? The capitalists, banded
together for the sole purpose of pillage and loot, had already
succeeded in enslaving the toiler. The appalling degradation of
the working classes, the sordidness and demoralizing squalor in
which they passed their lives, the curse of drink, the provocation
to crime, the shame of the sweat shops--all which evils in our
social system she had seen as a Settlement worker, were directly
traceable to Centralized Wealth. The labor unions regulated wages
and hours, but they were powerless to control the prices of the
necessaries of life. The Trusts could at pleasure create famine or
plenty. They usually willed to make it famine so they themselves
might acquire more millions with which to pay for marble palaces,
fast motor cars, ocean-going yachts and expensive establishments
at Newport. Food was ever dearer and of poorer quality, clothes
cost more, rents and taxes were higher. She thought of the horrors
in the packing houses at Chicago recently made the subject of a
sensational government report--putrid, pestiferous meats put up
for human food amid conditions of unspeakable foulness, freely
exposed to deadly germs from the expectorations of work people
suffering from tuberculosis, in unsanitary rotten buildings soaked
through with blood and every conceivable form of filth and decay,
the beef barons careless and indifferent to the dictates of common
decency so long as they could make more money. And while our
public gasped in disgust at the sickening revelations of the Beef
scandal and foreign countries quickly cancelled their contracts
for American prepared meats, the millionaire packer, insolent in
the possession of wealth stolen from a poisoned public, impudently
appeared in public in his fashionable touring car, with head erect
and self-satisfied, wholly indifferent to his shame.
These and other evidences of the plutocracy's cruel grip upon the
nation had ended by exasperating the people. There must be a limit
somewhere to the turpitudes of a degenerate class of _nouveaux
riches_. The day of reckoning was fast approaching for the
grafters and among the first to taste the vengeance of the people
would be the Colossus. But while waiting for the people to rise in
their righteous wrath, Ryder was all powerful, and if it were true
that he had instituted these impeachment proceedings her father
had little chance. What could be done? They could not sit and
wait, as Stott had said, for the action of the Senate. If it were
true that Ryder controlled the Senate as he controlled everything
else her father was doomed. No, they must find some other way.
And long after the judge and Stott had left for the city Shirley
sat alone on the porch engrossed in thought, taxing her brain to
find some way out of the darkness. And when presently her mother
and aunt returned they found her still sitting there, silent and
preoccupied. If they only had those two letters, she thought. They
alone might save her father. But how could they be got at? Mr.
Ryder had put them safely away, no doubt. He would not give them
up. She wondered how it would be to go boldly to him appeal to
whatever sense of honour and fairness that might be lying latent
within him. No, such a man would not know what the terms "honour,"
"fairness" meant. She pondered upon it all day and at night when
she went tired to bed it was her last thought as she dropped off
to sleep.
The following morning broke clear and fine. It was one of those
glorious, ideal days of which we get perhaps half a dozen during
the whole summer, days when the air is cool and bracing,
champagne-like in its exhilarating effect, and when Nature dons
her brightest dress, when the atmosphere is purer, the grass
greener, the sky bluer, the flowers sweeter and the birds sing in
more joyous chorus, when all creation seems in tune. Days that
make living worth while, when one can forget the ugliness, the
selfishness, the empty glitter of the man-made city and walk erect
and buoyant in the open country as in the garden of God.
Shirley went out for a long walk. She preferred to go alone
so she would not have to talk. Hers was one of those lonely,
introspective natures that resent the intrusion of aimless
chatter when preoccupied with serious thoughts. Long Island
was unknown territory to her and it all looked very flat and
uninteresting, but she loved the country and found keen delight
in the fresh, pure air and the sweet scent of new mown hay wafted
from the surrounding fields. In her soft, loose-fitting linen
dress, her white canvas shoes, garden hat trimmed with red roses,
and lace parasol, she made an attractive picture and every
passer-by--with the exception of one old farmer and he was half
blind--turned to look at this good-looking girl, a stranger in
those parts and whose stylish appearance suggested Fifth Avenue
rather than the commonplace purlieus of Massapequa.
Every now and then Shirley espied in the distance the figure of a
man which she thought she recognized as that of Jefferson. Had he
come, after all? The blood went coursing tumultuously through her
veins only a moment later to leave her face a shade paler as the
man came nearer and she saw he was a stranger. She wondered what
he was doing, if he gave her a thought, if he had spoken to his
father and what the latter had said. She could realize now what
Mr. Ryder's reply had been. Then she wondered what her future life
would be. She could do nothing, of course, until the Senate had
passed upon her father's case, but it was imperative that she get
to work. In a day or two, she would call on her publishers and
learn how her book was selling. She might get other commissions.
If she could not make enough money in literary work she would have
to teach. It was a dreary outlook at best, and she sighed as she
thought of the ambitions that had once stirred her breast. All the
brightness seemed to have gone out of her life, her father
disgraced, Jefferson now practically lost to her--only her work
remained.
As she neared the cottage on her return home she caught sight of
the letter carrier approaching the gate. Instantly she thought of
Jefferson, and she hurried to intercept the man. Perhaps he had
written instead of coming.
"Miss Shirley Rossmore?" said the man eyeing her interrogatively.
"That's I," said Shirley.
The postman handed her a letter and passed on. Shirley glanced
quickly at the superscription. No, it was not from Jefferson; she
knew his handwriting too well. The envelope, moreover, bore the
firm name of her publishers. She tore it open and found that it
merely contained another letter which the publishers had
forwarded. This was addressed to Miss Shirley Green and ran as
follows:
_Dear Madam._--If convenient, I should like to see you at
my office, No. 36 Broadway, in relation to your book "The
American Octopus." Kindly inform me as to the day and hour
at which I may expect you.
Yours truly,
JOHN BURKETT RYDER,
per B.
Shirley almost shouted from sheer excitement. At first she was
alarmed--the name John Burkett Ryder was such a bogey to frighten
bad children with, she thought he might want to punish her for
writing about him as she had. She hurried to the porch and sat
there reading the letter over and over and her brain began to
evolve ideas. She had been wondering how she could get at Mr.
Ryder and here he was actually asking her to call on him.
Evidently he had not the slightest idea of her identity, for he
had been able to reach her only through her publishers and no
doubt he had exhausted every other means of discovering her
address. The more she pondered over it the more she began to see
in this invitation a way of helping her father. Yes, she would go
and beard the lion in his den, but she would not go to his office.
She would accept the invitation only on condition that the
interview took place in the Ryder mansion where undoubtedly the
letters would be found. She decided to act immediately. No time
was to be lost, so she procured a sheet of paper and an envelope
and wrote as follows:
MR. JOHN BURKETT RYDER,
_Dear Sir._--I do not call upon gentlemen at their
business office.
Yours, etc.,
SHIRLEY GREEN.
Her letter was abrupt and at first glance seemed hardly calculated
to bring about what she wanted--an invitation to call at the Ryder
home, but she was shrewd enough to see that if Ryder wrote to her
at all it was because he was most anxious to see her and her
abruptness would not deter him from trying again. On the contrary,
the very unusualness of anyone thus dictating to him would make
him more than ever desirous of making her acquaintance. So Shirley
mailed the letter and awaited with confidence for Ryder's reply.
So certain was she that one would come that she at once began to
form her plan of action. She would leave Massapequa at once, and
her whereabouts must remain a secret even from her own family. As
she intended to go to the Ryder house in the assumed character of
Shirley Green, it would never do to run the risk of being followed
home by a Ryder detective to the Rossmore cottage. She would
confide in one person only--Judge Stott. He would know where she
was and would be in constant communication with her. But,
otherwise, she must be alone to conduct the campaign as she judged
fit. She would go at once to New York and take rooms in a boarding
house where she would be known as Shirley Green. As for funds to
meet her expenses, she had her diamonds, and would they not be
filling a more useful purpose if sold to defray the cost of saving
her father than in mere personal adornment? So that evening, while
her mother was talking with the judge, she beckoned Stott over to
the corner where she was sitting:
"Judge Stott," she began, "I have a plan."
He smiled indulgently at her.
"Another friend like that of yesterday?" he asked.
"No," replied the girl, "listen. I am in earnest now and I want
you to help me. You said that no one on earth could resist John
Burkett Ryder, that no one could fight against the Money Power.
Well, do you know what I am going to do?"
There was a quiver in her voice and her nostrils were dilated like
those of a thoroughbred eager to run the race. She had risen from
her seat and stood facing him, her fists clenched, her face set
and determined. Stott had never seen her in this mood and he gazed
at her half admiringly, half curiously.
"What will you do?" he asked with a slightly ironical inflection
in his voice.
"I am going to fight John Burkett Ryder!" she cried.
Stott looked at her open-mouthed.
"You?" he said.
"Yes, I," said Shirley. "I'm going to him and I intend to get
those letters if he has them."
Stott shook his head.
[Photo, from the play, of Shirley discussing her book
with Mr. Ryder]
"How do you classify him?"
"As the greatest criminal the world has ever produced."--Act III.
"My dear child," he said, "what are you talking about? How can you
expect to reach Ryder? We couldn't."
"I don't know just how yet," replied Shirley, "but I'm going to
try. I love my father and I'm going to leave nothing untried to
save him."
"But what can you do?" persisted Stott. "The matter has been
sifted over and over by some of the greatest minds in the
country."
"Has any woman sifted it over?" demanded Shirley.
"No, but--" stammered Stott.
"Then it's about time one did," said the girl decisively. "Those
letters my father speaks of--they would be useful, would they
not?"
"They would be invaluable."
"Then I'll get them. If not--"
"But I don't understand how you're going to get at Ryder,"
interrupted Stott.
"This is how," replied Shirley, passing over to him the letter she
had received that afternoon.
As Stott recognized the well-known signature and read the contents
the expression of his face changed. He gasped for breath and sank
into a chair from sheer astonishment.
"Ah, that's different!" he cried, "that's different!"
Briefly Shirley outlined her plan, explaining that she would go to
live in the city immediately and conduct her campaign from there.
If she was successful it might save her father and if not no harm
could come of it.
Stott demurred at first. He did not wish to bear alone the
responsibility of such an adventure. There was no knowing what
might happen to her, visiting a strange house under an assumed
name. But when he saw how thoroughly in earnest she was and that
she was ready to proceed without him he capitulated. He agreed
that she might be able to find the missing letters or if not that
she might make some impression on Ryder himself. She could show
interest in the judge's case as a disinterested outsider and so
might win his sympathies. From being a sceptic, Stott now became
enthusiastic. He promised to co-operate in every way and to keep
Shirley's whereabouts an absolute secret. The girl, therefore,
began to make her preparations for departure from home by telling
her parents that she had accepted an invitation to spend a week or
two with an old college chum in New York.
That same evening her mother, the judge, and Stott went for a
stroll after dinner and left her to take care of the house. They
had wanted Shirley to go, too, but she pleaded fatigue. The truth
was that she wanted to be alone so she could ponder undisturbed
over her plans. It was a clear, starlit night, with no moon, and
Shirley sat on the porch listening to the chirping of the crickets
and idly watching the flashes of the mysterious fireflies. She was
in no mood for reading and sat for a long time rocking herself
engrossed in her thoughts. Suddenly she heard someone unfasten the
garden gate. It was too soon for the return of the promenaders; it
must be a visitor. Through the uncertain penumbra of the garden
she discerned approaching a form which looked familiar. Yes, now
there was no doubt possible. It was, indeed, Jefferson Ryder.
She hurried down the porch to greet him. No matter what the father
had done she could never think any the less of the son. He took
her hand and for several moments neither one spoke. There are
times when silence is more eloquent than speech and this was one
of them. The gentle grip of his big strong hand expressed more
tenderly than any words the sympathy that lay in his heart for the
woman he loved. Shirley said quietly:
"You have come at last, Jefferson."
"I came as soon as I could," he replied gently. "I saw father only
yesterday."
"You need not tell me what he said," Shirley hastened to say.
Jefferson made no reply. He understood what she meant. He hung his
head and hit viciously with his walking stick at the pebbles that
lay at his feet. She went on:
"I know everything now. It was foolish of me to think that Mr.
Ryder would ever help us."
"I can't help it in any way," blurted out Jefferson. "I have not
the slightest influence over him. His business methods I consider
disgraceful--you understand that, don't you, Shirley?"
The girl laid her hand on his arm and replied kindly:
"Of course, Jeff, we know that. Come up and sit down."
He followed her on the porch and drew up a rocker beside her.
"They are all out for a walk," she explained.
"I'm glad," he said frankly. "I wanted a quiet talk with you. I
did not care to meet anyone. My name must be odious to your
people."
Both were silent, feeling a certain awkwardness. They seemed to
have drifted apart in some way since those delightful days in
Paris and on the ship. Then he said:
"I'm going away, but I couldn't go until I saw you."
"You are going away?" exclaimed Shirley, surprised.
"Yes," he said, "I cannot stand it any more at home. I had a hot
talk with my father yesterday about one thing and another. He and
I don't chin well together. Besides this matter of your father's
impeachment has completely discouraged me. All the wealth in the
world could never reconcile me to such methods! I'm ashamed of the
rôle my own flesh and blood has played in that miserable affair. I
can't express what I feel about it."
"Yes," sighed Shirley, "it is hard to believe that you are the son
of that man!"
"How is your father?" inquired Jefferson. "How does he take it?"
"Oh, his heart beats and he can see and hear and speak," replied
Shirley sadly, "but he is only a shadow of what he once was. If
the trial goes against him, I don't think he'll survive it."
"It is monstrous," cried Jefferson. "To think that my father
should be responsible for this thing!"
"We are still hoping for the best," added Shirley, "but the
outlook is dark."
"But what are you going to do?" he asked. "These surroundings are
not for you--" He looked around at the cheap furnishings which he
could see through the open window and his face showed real
concern.
"I shall teach or write, or go out as governess," replied Shirley
with a tinge of bitterness. Then smiling sadly she added: "Poverty
is easy; it is unmerited disgrace which is hard."
The young man drew his chair closer and took hold of the hand that
lay in her lap. She made no resistance.
"Shirley," he said, "do you remember that talk we had on the ship?
I asked you to be my wife. You led me to believe that you were not
indifferent to me. I ask you again to marry me. Give me the right
to take care of you and yours. I am the son of the world's richest
man, but I don't want his money. I have earned a competence of my
own--enough to live on comfortably. We will go away where you and
your father and mother will make their home with us. Do not let
the sins of the fathers embitter the lives of the children."
"Mine has not sinned," said Shirley bitterly.
"I wish I could say the same of mine," replied Jefferson. "It is
because the clouds are dark about you that I want to come into
your life to comfort you."
The girl shook her head.
"No, Jefferson, the circumstances make such a marriage impossible.
Your family and everybody else would say that I had inveigled you
into it. It is even more impossible now than I thought it was when
I spoke to you on the ship. Then I was worried about my father's
trouble and could give no thought to anything else. Now it is
different. Your father's action has made our union impossible for
ever. I thank you for the honour you have done me. I do like you.
I like you well enough to be your wife, but I will not accept this
sacrifice on your part. Your offer, coming at such a critical
time, is dictated only by your noble, generous nature, by your
sympathy for our misfortune. Afterwards, you might regret it. If
my father were convicted and driven from the bench and you found
you had married the daughter of a disgraced man you would be
ashamed of us all, and if I saw that it would break my heart."
Emotion stopped her utterance and she buried her face in her hands
weeping silently.
"Shirley," said Jefferson gently, "you are wrong. I love you for
yourself, not because of your trouble. You know that. I shall
never love any other woman but you. If you will not say 'yes' now,
I shall go away as I told my father I would and one day I shall
come back and then if you are still single I shall ask you again
to be my wife."
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I shall travel for a year and then, may be, I shall stay a couple
of years in Paris, studying at the Beaux Arts. Then I may go to
Rome. If I am to do anything worth while in the career I have
chosen I must have that European training."
"Paris! Rome!" echoed Shirley. "How I envy you! Yes, you are
right. Get away from this country where the only topic, the only
thought is money, where the only incentive to work is dollars. Go
where there are still some ideals, where you can breathe the
atmosphere of culture and art."
Forgetting momentarily her own troubles, Shirley chatted on about
life in the art centres of Europe, advised Jefferson where to go,
with whom to study. She knew people in Paris, Rome and Munich and
she would give him letters to them. Only, if he wanted to perfect
himself in the languages, he ought to avoid Americans and
cultivate the natives. Then, who could tell? if he worked hard and
was lucky, he might have something exhibited at the Salon and
return to America a famous painter.
"If I do," smiled Jefferson, "you shall be the first to
congratulate me. I shall come and ask you to be my wife. May I?"
he added,
Shirley smiled gravely.
"Get famous first. You may not want me then."
"I shall always want you," he whispered hoarsely, bending over
her. In the dim light of the porch he saw that her tear-stained
face was drawn and pale. He rose and held out his hand.
"Good-bye," he said simply.
"Good-bye, Jefferson." She rose and put her hand in his. "We shall
always be friends. I, too, am going away."
"You going away--where to?" he asked surprised.
"I have work to do in connection with my father's case," she said.
"You?" said Jefferson puzzled. "You have work to do--what work?"
"I can't say what it is, Jefferson. There are good reasons why I
can't. You must take my word for it that it is urgent and
important work." Then she added: "You go your way, Jefferson; I
will go mine. It was not our destiny to belong to each other. You
will become famous as an artist. And I--"
"And you--" echoed Jefferson.
"I--I shall devote my life to my father. It's no use,
Jefferson--really--I've thought it all out. You must not come back
to me--you understand. We must be alone with our grief--father and
I. Good-bye."
He raised her hand to his lips.
"Good-bye, Shirley. Don't forget me. I shall come back for you."
He went down the porch and she watched him go out of the gate and
down the road until she could see his figure no longer. Then she
turned back and sank into her chair and burying her face in her
handkerchief she gave way to a torrent of tears which afforded
some relief to the weight on her heart. Presently the others
returned from their walk and she told them about the visitor.
"Mr. Ryder's son, Jefferson, was here. We crossed on the same
ship. I introduced him to Judge Stott on the dock."
The judge looked surprised, but he merely said:
"I hope for his sake that he is a different man from his father."
"He is," replied Shirley simply, and nothing more was said.
Two days went by, during which Shirley went on completing the
preparations for her visit to New York. It was arranged that Stott
should escort her to the city. Shortly before they started for the
train a letter arrived for Shirley. Like the first one it had been
forwarded by her publishers. It read as follows:
MISS SHIRLEY GREEN,
_Dear Madam._--I shall be happy to see you at my
residence--Fifth Avenue--any afternoon that you will
mention.
Yours very truly,
JOHN BURKETT RYDER,
per B.
Shirley smiled in triumph as, unseen by her father and mother, she
passed it over to Stott. She at once sat down and wrote this
reply:
MR. JOHN BURKETT RYDER,
_Dear Sir._--I am sorry that I am unable to comply with
your request. I prefer the invitation to call at your
private residence should come from Mrs. Ryder.
Yours, etc.,
SHIRLEY GREEN.
She laughed as she showed this to Stott:
"He'll write me again," she said, "and next time his wife will
sign the letter."
An hour later she left Massapequa for the city.