On the next day, which was Sunday, Deborah made an appointment with her
father's physician, and had a long talk with him at his house. Upon her
return she went to her room and stayed there until evening, but when she
came down to supper her manner was as usual. At the table she joined in the
talk of Edith and the children, already deep in their preparations for the
move up to the farm. George could hardly wait to start. That life would be
a change indeed in Edith's plans for her family, and as they talked about
it now the tension of hostility which had so long existed between the two
sisters passed away. Each knew the clash had come to an end, that they
would live together no more; and as though in remorse they drew close,
Deborah with her suggestions, Edith in her friendly way of taking and
discussing each one. Then Deborah went again to her room. Her room was just
over Roger's, and waking several times in the night he heard his daughter
walking the floor.
The next day she was up early and off to her school before he came down. It
was a fine spring morning, Roger had had a good night's sleep, and as he
walked to his office he was buoyed up by a feeling both of hope for his
daughter and of solid satisfaction in himself as he remembered all that he
had said to her. Curiously enough he could recall every word of it now.
Every point which he had made rose up before him vividly. How clear he had
been, how simple and true, and yet with what a tremendous effect he had
piled the points one on the other. "By George," he thought with a little
glow, "for a fellow who's never been in a pulpit I put up a devilish strong
appeal." And he added sagely, "Let it work on the girl, give it a chance.
She'll come out of this all right. This idea some fellows have, that every
woman is born a fool, isn't fair, it isn't true. Just let a line of
argument be presented to her strong and clear--straight from the
shoulder--by some man--"
And again with a tingle of pleasure his mind recurred to his sermon. His
pleasures had been few of late, so he dwelt on this little glow of pride
and made the most of it while it was here.
At the office, as he entered his room, he stopped with a slight shock of
surprise. John, standing on his crutches in front of a large table, had
been going through the morning's mail, sorting out the routine letters
Roger did not need to see. To-day he had just finished and was staring at
the window. The light fell full on his sallow face and showed an amazing
happiness. At Roger's step he started.
"Well, Johnny, how goes it this morning?"
"Fine, thank you," was the prompt reply. And John hobbled briskly over to
his typewriter in the corner. Roger sat down at his desk. As he did so he
glanced again at the cripple and felt a little pang of regret. "What will
become of him," he asked, "when I close out my business?" He still thought
of him as a mere boy, for looking at the small crooked form it was
difficult to remember that John was twenty years of age. The lad had worked
like a Trojan of late. Even Roger, engrossed as he had been in family
anxieties, had noticed it in the last few weeks. He would have to make some
provision for John. Deborah would see to it.... Roger went slowly through
his mail. One letter was from the real estate firm through whom he was to
sell the house. The deal had not been closed as yet, there were certain
points still to be settled. So Roger called John to his desk and dictated a
reply. When he finished there was a brief pause.
"That's all," said Roger gruffly.
"So you're sellin' the house," John ventured.
"Yes."
The lad limped back to his corner and went to work at his machine. But
presently he came over again and stood waiting awkwardly.
"What is it, Johnny?" Roger inquired, without looking up.
"Say, Mr. Gale," the boy began, in a carefully casual tone, "would you mind
talking business a minute or two?"
"No. Fire ahead."
"Well, sir, you've had your own troubles lately, you haven't had much time
for things here. The last time you went over the books was nearly a couple
of weeks ago."
John paused and his look was portentous.
"Well," asked Roger, "what about it? Business been picking up any since
then?"
"Yes, sir!" was the answer. "We didn't lose a cent last week! We made
money! Fifteen dollars!"
"Good Lord, Johnny, we're getting rich."
"But that's nothing," John continued. "The fact of the matter is, Mr. Gale,
I have been working lately on a new line I thought of. And now it's got
agoing so fast it's getting clean away from me!" Again he stopped, and
swallowed hard.
"Out with it, then," said Roger.
"I got it from the war," said John. "The papers are still half full of war
news, and that's what's keeping our business down--because we ain't
adopting ourselves to the new war conditions. So I figured it like this.
Say there are a million people over here in America who've got either
friends or relations in the armies over there. Say that all of 'em want to
get news--not just this stuff about battles, but real live news of what's
happened to Bill. Has Bill still got his legs and arms? Can he hold down a
job when he gets home? News which counts for something! See? A big new
market! Business for us! So I tried to see what I could do!" John
excitedly shifted his crutches. Roger was watching intently.
"Go on, Johnny."
"Sure, I'll go on! One night I went to a library where they have English
papers. I went over their files for about a month. I took one Canadian
regiment--see?--and traced it through, and I got quite a story. Then I used
some of the money I've saved and bought a whole bunch of papers. I piled
'em up in the room where I sleep and went through 'em nights. I hired two
kids to help me. Well, Mr. Gale, the thing worked fine! In less than a week
I had any amount of little bunches of clippings. See how I mean? Each bunch
was the story of one regiment for a month. So I knew we could deliver the
goods!
"Well, this was about ten days ago. And then I went after the market. I
went to a man I met last year in an advertising office, and for fifty
dollars we put an 'ad' in the Sunday Times. After that there was nothing to
do but wait. The next day--nothing doing! I was here at seven-thirty and I
went through every mail. Not a single answer to my 'ad'--and I thought I
was busted! But Tuesday morning there were three, with five dollar checks
inside of 'em! In the afternoon there were two more and the next day
eleven! By the end of last week we'd had forty-six! Friday I put in another
'ad' and there've been over seventy more since then! That makes a hundred
and twenty in all--six hundred dollars! And I'm swamped! I ain't done
nothing yet--I've just kept 'em all for you to see!"
He went quickly to the table, gathered a pile of letters there and brought
them over to Roger's desk. Roger glanced over a few of them, dazed. He
looked around into John's shrewd face, where mingled devotion and triumph
and business zeal were shining.
"Johnny," he said huskily, "you've adopted my business and no mistake."
John swallowed again and scowled with joy.
"Let's figure it out!" he proposed.
"We will!"
They were at it all day, laying their plans, "adopting" the work of the
office to the new conditions. They found they would need a larger force,
including a French and a German translator. They placed other "ads" in the
papers. They forgot to have lunch and worked steadily on, till the outer
rooms were empty and still. At last they were through. Roger wearily put on
his cuffs, and went and got his coat and hat.
"Say, Mr. Gale," John asked him, "how about this letter--the one you
dictated this morning to that firm about your house?" Roger turned and
looked at him.
"Throw it into the basket," he said. "We'll write 'em another to-morrow and
tell 'em we have changed our minds." He paused for just a moment, and then
he added brusquely, "If this goes through as I hope it will, I guess you'd
better come into the firm."
And he left the room abruptly. Behind him there was not a sound.
* * * * *
At home in his study, that evening, he made some more calculations. In a
few weeks he would have money enough to start Edith and her family in their
new life on the farm. For the present at least, the house was safe.
"Why, father." Edith came into the room. "I didn't know you had come home.
What kept you so long at the office?"
"Oh, business, my dear--"
"Have you had any supper?"
"No, and I'd like some," he replied.
"I'll see to it myself," she said. Edith was good at this sort of thing,
and the supper she brought was delicious. He ate it with keen relish. Then
he went back to his study and picked up a book, an old favorite. He
started to read, but presently dozed. The book dropped from his hands and
he fell asleep.
He awakened with a start, and saw Deborah looking down at him. For a moment
he stared up, as he came to his senses, and in his daughter's clear gray
eyes he thought he saw a happiness which set his heart to beating fast.
"Well?" he questioned huskily.
"We're to be married right away."
He stared a moment longer; "Oh, I'm so glad, so glad, my dear. I was afraid
you--" he stopped short. Deborah bent close to him, and he felt her squeeze
his arm:
"I've been over and over all you said," she told him, in a low sweet voice.
"I had a good many ups and downs. But I'm all through now--I'm sure you
were right." And she pressed her cheek to his. "Oh, dad, dad--it's such a
relief! And I'm so happy!... Thank you, dear."
"Where is Allan?" he asked presently.
"I'll get him," she said. She left the room, and in a moment Allan's tall
ungainly form appeared in the doorway.
"Well, Allan, my boy," Roger cried.
"Oh, Roger Gale," said Allan softly. He was wringing Roger's hand.
"So she decided to risk you, eh," Roger said unsteadily. "Well, Baird, you
look like a devilish risk for a woman like her--who has the whole world on
her back as it is--"
"I know--I know--and how rash she has been! Only two years and her mind was
made up!"
"But that's like her--that's our Deborah--always acting like a flash--"
"Stop acting like children!" Deborah cried. "And be sensible and listen to
me! We're to be married to-morrow morning--"
"Why to-morrow?" Roger asked.
"Because," she said decidedly, "there has been enough fuss over this
affair. So we'll just be married and have it done. And when Edith and the
children go up next week to the mountains, we want to move right into this
house."
"This house?" exclaimed her father.
"I know--it's sold," she answered. "But we're going to get a lease. We'll
see the new owner and talk him around."
"Then you'll have to talk _your father_ around--"
"_You_ around?" And Deborah stared. "You mean to say you're not going to
sell?"
"I do," said Roger blithely. He told them the story of John's new scheme.
"And if things turn out in the office as I hope they will," he ended,
"we'll clear the mortgage on the house and then make it your wedding
gift--from the new firm to the new family."
Deborah choked a little:
"Allan! What do you think of us now?"
"I think," he answered, in a drawl, "that we'd better try to persuade the
new firm to live with the new family."
"We will, and the sooner the better!" she said.
"I'm going up to the mountains," said Roger.
"Yes, but you're coming back in the fall, and when you do you're coming
here! And you're going to live here years and years!"
"You're forgetting my doctor."
"Not at all. I had a long talk with him Sunday and I know just what I'm
saying."
"You don't look it, my dear," said Roger, "but of course you may be right.
If you take the proper care of me here--and John keeps booming things for
the firm--"
"And George makes a huge success of the farm," Deborah added quickly.
"And Deborah of teaching the world--"
"Oh, Allan, hush up!"
"Look here," he said. "You go upstairs and tell Edith all this. Your father
and I want to be alone."
And when the two men were left alone, they smoked and said nothing. They
smiled at each other.
"It's hard to decide," grunted Roger at last. "Which did it--my wonderful
sermon or your own long waiting game? I'm inclined to think it was the
game. For any other man but you--with all you've done, without any
talk--no, sir, there wouldn't have been a chance. For she's modern, Baird,
she's modern. And I'm going to live just as long as I can. I want to see
what happens here."
* * * * *
The next night in his study, how quiet it was. Edith was busy packing
upstairs, Deborah and Allan were gone. Thoughts drifted slowly across his
mind. Well, she was married, the last of his daughters, the one whom he
cared most for, the one who had taken the heaviest risks. And this was the
greatest risk of all. For although she had put it happily out of her
thoughts for the moment, Roger knew the old troublesome question was still
there in Deborah's mind. The tenement children or her own, the big family
or the small? He felt there would still be struggles ahead. And with a kind
of a wistfulness he tried to see into the future here.
He gave a sudden start in his chair.
"By George!" he thought. "They forgot the ring!" Scowling, he tried to
remember. Yes, in the brief simple service that day, in which so much had
been omitted--music, flowers, wedding gown--even the ring had been left
out. Why? Not from any principle, he knew that they were not such fools.
No, they had simply forgotten it, in the haste of getting married at once.
Well, by thunder, for a girl whose father had been a collector of rings for
the best part of his natural life, it was pretty shabby to say the least!
Then he recollected that he, too, had forgotten it. And this quieted him
immediately.
"I'll get one, though," he promised himself. "And no plain wedding ring
either. I'll make A. Baird attend to that. No, I'll get her a ring worth
while."
He sank deep in his chair and took peace to his soul by thinking of the
ring he would choose. And this carried his thoughts back over the years.
For there had been so many rings....