“In a short time we were married. But my dream of happiness was short
lived. My wife and my mother had little in common, and often the
passionate red lips would utter words that wounded the elder woman to
the very heart. I soon saw how matters stood but was unable to control
them. I pleaded with Annie, I reasoned with my mother; but the two
beings whom I loved better than any others in the world had no love for
each other. Several times I spoke sharply to Annie and to my surprise
Robert sided with my wife against me and the mother who worshiped him.
This seemed to break her heart and it was not long until she closed her
eyes in her last long sleep.
“When all was over I again sought to reason with my wife. I folded her
to my heart whilst I could scarcely repress the sobs that would well up
from its depths. It seemed to me that she at first shrank from me, but I
thought it must be only imagination.
“She now often treated me to perfect storms of passionate caresses and I
was as wax in her band. No request could I deny her, and I found myself
rapidly sinking in debt. But I should not blame her. Poor child! she
knew no better. She had been left an orphan at an early age; cuffed
about from place to place, her heart always full of longings which were
never satisfied. When she married me she believed all that would be at
an end. What one man could do for his wife another should also do for
his. That this was impossible she could not understand.
“Sometimes I felt like cursing her, then overwhelmed by a rush of
tenderness I would almost crush her in my embrace and again she would
win the victory. But the time came when I felt the waves closing over my
head, and I surely must have been mad or I would never have done what I
did.”
The voice of the man broke and a suspicious moisture could be seen in
his eyes. For a moment, he laid his hand over them ere he proceeded:
“I robbed my employer’s safe of ten thousand dollars. I knew I would be
received with a storm of kisses and caresses which would outweigh
everything else. Let come what would, for once she should be perfectly
happy.
“With the stolen treasure in my pocket I hurried home, a full hour
earlier than usual, in a state of delirious excitement bordering upon
insanity. I found the door locked, but having my latch key with me I did
not ring but quietly let myself in.
“The little parlor was deserted; so was the dining room and kitchen. The
soft carpet deadened the sound of my footsteps. I went from room to room
and in Robert’s room I heard voices. The door stood slightly ajar.
Touching it lightly it opened several inches wider and the sight that
met my eyes broke my heart. Clasped close in each other’s arms; their
heads pressing the same pillow, were Robert and my wife. A quick
movement opened the door wide with a creaking sound; the two heard and
both started up as if electrified. Annie screamed and clapped both hands
to her face. Robert’s face was a study. Hate and defiance were written
in every line of it. With a sudden movement he took a revolver from his
pocket and leveled it at my heart. But quick as was his action I
forestalled him. With a single bound I gave his arm an upward blow
sending the bullet into the ceiling and the revolver to the far end of
the room.
“‘Madman!’ I cried. ‘What would you do? Have you not enough upon your
conscience that you would commit murder?’
“The sullen, defiant look upon his face deepened.
“‘I hate you!’ he almost hissed. ‘You are a constant bar to my
happiness.’
“Unjust as I knew this accusation to be I made no comment upon it but
asked:
“‘Tell me one thing, and without prevarication. Do you love Annie?’
“Quick as a flash came the answer,
“‘I do!’
“‘And you, Annie, do you love Robert?’
“But Annie sobbed and would not give an intelligible answer, until I
sternly repeated the question, and then, between broken sobs:
“‘O, I cannot help it. Indeed, indeed I cannot help it.’
“Staggering as beneath a blow I steadied myself for a moment against the
table, then, with a mighty effort of will recovering myself, I took the
stolen money from my pocket and threw it on the table.
“‘Take it,’ I said, ‘and make the most of it. I have now no use for it.
Be happy if you can, I shall no longer stand in the way. You are free in
every sense of the word to do as you choose.’
“I turned to leave the room when Annie threw herself sobbing in my way.
She clung to me in passion and despair, asserting again and again that
she ‘could not help it.’ Almost forcibly I loosened her hold and
pointing to the money on the table I said to Robert,
“‘See to it, that you handle the money wisely, and remember that this
girl now depends upon you for the comfort, of life. I have done with
both of you!’
“Overcome by a sudden impulse I once more caught her in my arms,
clasping her close to my breast. I pressed a last kiss upon her lips,
then putting the half-fainting form from me I rushed out into the cold
night air. I surely need say no more. You now can understand what drove
me to the verge of desperation. To find the woman who had driven me to
the verge of ruin, untrue, was more than I could bear. A day or two and
I would stand before the world exposed. The shame, the disgrace and the
walls of Sing Sing loomed up before my mind’s eye. I had been a slave
all my life to adverse conditions. And now to lose the one boon that I
prized above all others—my liberty! No, I would die first! And yet I had
it not in my heart to wish any ill to those two. True, I felt bitter
towards my brother, but for some reason the fact of his actual
helplessness was more clear in my mind than ever before. Have there not
been countless cases wherein this very defect has appealed to the hearts
of strong, healthy women?—and her pitiful ‘I cannot help it’ kept
ringing in my ears. I knew I never loved her more dearly than in the
moment I gave her up, or ever felt more tenderly towards him.
“Many conflicting thoughts surged through my brain; while constantly I
questioned, ‘Why? why?’ And you may think me mad, sir, but the more I
thought the more I blamed not them, the chief actors in this life
tragedy, but the system from which such abnormal conditions could arise,
and in one day make criminals of us all.”
Owen listened as if entranced. The excited man had arisen and was pacing
the room with hurried strides, wildly tossing the masses of dark curling
locks. After a few moments he continued:
“Often and often I had gnashed my teeth in helpless fury when the few
paltry dollars were laid in my hands that constituted the remuneration
for work which I knew was worth more than fourfold that which I
received. I knew if justice could be done I had only taken my own. But
that was not law.
“Now my mind wandered in another direction. I knew Annie and Robert had
been thrown long hours together in my absence. His weak, delicate
condition first awoke her sympathy, and ‘pity is akin to love.’ The
frequent squabbling during the life time of my mother helped develop
these feelings in her heart. So the weakling, who all his life had been
scorned and shunned by health-and-strength-loving maidens, suddenly
found himself the object of tender and sympathetic glances, and what
wonder that his starved heart became inflamed? I could see the whole
proceeding was but natural. But oh, the shame of it. No one else in all
New York would look at the matter as I did, when it became known. But
then the thought struck me, ‘Was it necessary?’ and must I fill a
convict’s cell? I answered: ‘No! No! No! Never!’ Thus for many hours I
walked the streets, thinking, thinking, thinking, until I found myself
at the water’s edge about to end all the maddening perplexities, when
your hand stayed my movements. So now you are in possession of facts
which I had expected to take with me into my watery grave.”
The strange recital was at an end. Wearily the narrator flung himself
into his chair and leaned back, white and exhausted. The bitter but
musical voice was hushed while Owen Hunter sat with his head resting on
his hand, lost in thought. Was the life of every good man a wreck? For
that the man who sat before him was a good man he had not a single
doubt. Aside from the bitter experience of his own life he had never
thought of the struggling, suffering masses of humanity. Ten thousand
dollars! He had no doubt that the sum seemed an enormous fortune to the
man before him, while to Owen it seemed scarce worth mentioning.
“What salary,” he asked, “did you receive?”
A bitter smile curved the lips of the other.
“Fifty dollars per month.”
Fifty dollars! How often had Owen thoughtlessly squandered as much and
more in a single evening; and here was a man who with his family had to
live a whole month on it. For the first time in his life the question
arose why it was that those who were the producers of all wealth should
have so little of it to enjoy; for the first time he asked himself.
“Have you a right to control so much money, while so many others are
suffering for the actual necessaries of life?” What had he ever done to
alleviate human suffering? In memory he saw large figures heading long
lists of charity. “Charity!” Suddenly the word seemed to him the most
cold and heartless in the English language. To offer charity where
justice was due! In that instant he resolved that the sons and daughters
of humanity, the many poverty stricken little children, should reap the
benefit of the money he controlled. He did not yet see his way clear,
and for the moment very wisely left the selection of methods to the
future. The present hour belonged to the deeply stricken man who had
permitted him to read the pages of his sad history.
“Will you not tell me your name?” he sympathetically inquired.
“My name?” With indescribable bitterness he spoke the words. “Why should
I not give it you? All New York will be ringing with it in a few days
when it will be known that the assistant bookkeeper of the firm of
Hunter & Co. has proven false to his trust. My name is Milton Nesbit!”
As if electrified Owen turned upon the man before him.
“Repeat the name of the firm by which you were employed!”
“Hunter & Co.”
With a gasping sound Owen sank back, pale to the very lips. Surprised,
Milton Nesbit turned inquiringly to him.
“Why, what is wrong; are you ill?
Owen shook his head.
“No! no! It is not that, but——Well, why should I search for empty words?
My name is Owen Hunter!”
It was now Milton Nesbit’s turn to gasp with surprise. He had been
holding his position some two years and in all that time had never seen
the senior member of the firm. He had been told it had not always been
thus; but for several years Owen Hunter no longer took an active part in
the business, and most of the newcomers had never seen the man for whom
they were coining and piling up money.
Milton Nesbit felt a strange thrill as his eyes rested upon the man who
was to be his judge. An unspeakable bitterness vibrated through his
voice when he again spoke.
“If you are the Owen Hunter of Hunter & Co. and if I were a good
Christian I should say that the workings of an Almighty God could be
traced in the events of this most fateful day; that he so willed it that
it must be just the man whom I have robbed whose hand should stay the
act which would have freed me from an accursed fate. But this just God
who is said to be all love will not have it so. Earthly justice must
first be satisfied; the almighty wrath must first be appeased by giving
man a chance to avenge himself upon his fellow man. I simply call it
cruel, relentless fate, which has pursued me so many years and which
dates from the earliest recollections of my childhood. Very well! pass
the sentence which I know lies in your power to enforce, for ‘money
rules the world,’ you know. Hand me over to the guardians of the peace
and let the law take its course. It matters little what becomes of me
now. I may as well sleep behind prison bars as anywhere else. The
sunshine of happiness has long since forsaken me; lost in the gloom and
darkness of despair.”
Oh, the bitterness, the hopeless misery in the strong man’s voice. He
had risen and walked back and forth the full length of the room, then
with his elbow resting upon the mantel, his hand supporting his head, he
stood glaring into the glowing coals, awaiting his sentence. But Owen
now no longer calmly sat enjoying the comforts of the room. As the other
ceased speaking he stepped to his side and gently laying his hand upon
his shoulder, said:
“Will you look me in the face?”
Silently Nesbit turned and faced Owen. For some minutes they stood thus
face to face; then Owen’s hand was extended.
“May I ask you to give me your hand in friendship?”
Surprise was depicted upon Nesbit’s face as he looked at the
outstretched palm, and then inquiringly into the face of the man to whom
it belonged.
“Friendship?” echoed Milton Nesbit, while he nervously passed his hand
over his forehead as if he would dispel the mists which seemed to him to
be gathering there.
“And why not? Am I selfish when I ask it? But with my millions a true
friend is something which I have not, and now I am waiting to feel the
clasp of genuine friendship. Do I ask in vain?”
Milton Nesbit’s face was a study. Queer little quivers were stirring the
muscles. Sinking once more into his chair he buried his face in both
hands. For some time neither spoke, then the deeply moved man raised his
head and looked the other searchingly in the eye.
“And how about the criminal?”
“Do you feel yourself one?”
The flash in the dark eye answered him even before the firmly spoken
words:
“No, I do not!”
“Then once more I extend my hand and ask, will you be my friend and
brother? I might be able to give you an insight into a life that would
verify the words, ‘All is not gold that glitters.’”
There was now no hesitation, and in that handclasp a life-long
friendship was sealed. A Christmas morn it was to these two, that all
their lives stood out clear and bright.
All that afternoon the two men sat in that quiet comfortable room, and
as Owen had first listened to one of the saddest of life histories, so
now, in turn, he opened his heart to his new friend, and in the first
hour of his new-found friendship he proved it no idle phrase, for in
this hour he claimed Nesbit’s trust and full confidence. If Milton could
not at first give his sanction to an affair like that of Owen, who
having already a wife, however unworthy, could take to his heart another
woman, and finding her as he had found her, should hold her above all
other women—this certainly, should excite no surprise.
Remembering the woman who, though false to him, he still loved, Milton
could not sit in judgment and condemn this other woman who had given the
wealth of her love to Owen without first asking leave of some third
person or persons. Just at present he could see nothing clearly. He
could feel, but was in no condition to reason. Owen saw and understood,
and knowing that in his present condition the best thing for Milton was
change—change of scene and of mental occupation, he at once decided to
put into execution a long-deferred plan of his own. He would travel; he
would take Nesbit with him as traveling companion; and just then he
remembered an old college mate whom he had not seen for many years. Why
not begin the proposed journey by making a call upon the friend of his
youth?
Accordingly a dispatch was at once sent to announce their coming and in
a very few days the two friends, who had become such in a way so strange
and unexpected, were comfortably seated in a luxurious Pullman car en
route for the west.