AT OTTAWA
“Come in, both of you,” Strong called from the inside office. Ted had
shown up at Strong’s office early the next day. He found Strong at his
desk and he found afterwards that he had been there for more than two
hours. His secretary told Ted that he was telephoning long distance and
that Ted should wait. When the operative was through talking, he came
out and saw Ted.
“Sit down a few minutes, Ted, I shall be busy,” he had said. He had
returned to his office and proceeded to do some further telephoning.
Walker had come in a little later and the two were busy going over the
evening’s events when Strong called out as above.
“Well, Ted, I guess we are going to have war. At least we won the first
victory, or rather you did.”
Ted fidgeted at the praise and grinned sheepishly.
“I wonder,” said Walker, “if they have found the dictaphone as yet.”
“You can safely figure on the fact that they did. They started a little
investigation when they found that the birds had flown. But it does not
matter how much they know we know, now. It’s a fight in the open from
now on. I’m thankful for that.
“I have already notified Ottawa, New York, and the different capitals
of the provinces. Washington also knows, our embassy has already
notified them as to the location of the arsenals. They are going to
issue orders from Ottawa to confiscate those in our own country at once.
“Ottawa wanted all the facts and it got them. I expect to hear further
from them in the course of the day.”
“I wonder,” said Walker, “if our friends will be polite enough to
return my dictaphone. They should, it does not belong to them and they
probably know to whom it does belong.”
“You might go over and claim it,” answered Strong.
“I think I will, just to see old Winckel’s face.”
Strong turned to Ted.
“Dear lad,” he said, “what you did isn’t the kind of thing that can
appear in the newspapers, but it is the kind about which history is
made. It is a big job you have accomplished. The men who sent you down
to us made no mistake in their judgment as to what you could do. Sir
Robert Wingate wanted to know all about you, I must have talked to him
for more than twenty minutes on the telephone.
“Walker and I go to Ottawa on a late train today. They want to see me,
to go over details.
“Well, let’s get busy with the last threads of what happened last
night--we have to put it down on black and white for future reference.
When do you want to return to Wayland, Ted?”
“I should like to go by Saturday, if it can be arranged,” answered Ted.
“Well, I think it can be done. I shall return tomorrow night or early
the following morning. You will be free for these two days. Have a good
time; remember, we pay all your expenses--nothing is too good for you.
If you can, come down the day after tomorrow. I may have some news for
you.”
“I shall be glad to come down,” answered Ted, as he wondered at the
news to which Strong had reference.
They spent a half hour or more going over the events of the evening,
Strong’s secretary taking notes. Then Ted left and returned home.
That afternoon he took his mother to the ball game and saw the Cubs
defeat the Giants. He tried to explain the game to his mother, who
pretended an interest and tried hard to understand. But she found her
truant fancy going elsewhere--it centered about this boy of hers, her
daughter and also about the husband who could not endure the troubleous
times, not because of the hardship to himself so much as the hardship
to her and the child.
Ted’s interest was not divided, however, except in rare moments when
he would turn to his mother and accuse her of lack of interest. She
would flush guiltily and pretend that she was interested. She would
ask a question or two, but her very questions convicted her, showed
her inability to understand, and Ted gave it up as a hopeless job and
comforted himself in the belief that only men understood the game, it
was too deep for women, excepting one or two, who knew something.
As they rode home the boy and the mother discussed the improvement in
their condition.
“We will never have to worry any more, mother, not as long as I am
able,” the boy said, with all of youth’s surety and confidence.
Mrs. Marsh wiped an unbidden tear from her eye.
“I am very happy, dear. And yet, I would give so much if your father
was one of us. He was a fine man, but things were against him, too much
so.”
Ted did not answer, he felt that nothing he could say would help.
After a long period of quiet, the boy spoke a little more quietly:
“Never mind, mother, you have Helen and me.”
“I am happy in my riches,” answered the mother proudly.
When they reached home, both of them began to get the supper ready so
that Helen would not have to wait. A brilliant idea came to Ted as they
prepared. “Mother,” he said excitedly, “let’s not eat at home tonight.
We are going to the theater, so let us have supper out.”
At first the mother demurred, but she gave way--there was great
temptation in the unusual treat. When Helen came home and was told
the plan she was even more excited than they; it was so unusual an
adventure. You can readily believe that it was a happy party of three
that repaired to one of the many nice restaurants in the loop and
afterward to the theater. They did not reach home until late in the
night. On the way home they discussed what the news could be that
Strong would have for Ted.
The next day Ted spent at the Settlement, renewing old acquaintances.
Miss White, who had taken Mrs. Dean’s place, was glad to see him and
gave him a hearty welcome. She was greatly interested in his story of
his year in the West and wanted to know all about Mrs. Dean. It was a
great day for Ted and the pleasantest of his stay in Chicago.
On his way home that night Ted began to wish for Wayland. He had not
realized how much the place meant to him until now. Syd Graham and the
rest of the boys seemed very dear, very desirable.
“I hope,” he said to himself, “that nothing will keep me from going on
Saturday.”