Not more than two weeks after Lon had demanded the twins from Horace,
Everett Brimbecomb sat in his office, brooding over the shadow that had
so suddenly darkened his life. The dream he had dreamed of a woman he
could call Mother, of some man--his father--of whom he had striven to be
worthy, had dissolved into a specter with a shriveled face and shaggy
hair, into a woman whom he had left in the cemetery to die. Although he
was secure in the thought that he would not be connected with the
tragedy, he shuddered every time he thought of her and of the coming
spring, when the body would be discovered. He did not repent the crime
he had committed; but the fear that the secret of his birth would be
brought to life tortured him night and day. He remembered that Scraggy
had said his father wanted him; that she had come to Tarrytown to take
him back. Did his father know who and where he was? If so, eventual
discovery was inevitable.
Everett's passion for Fledra only heightened his misery, and the girl's
face haunted him continually. In his imagination he compared her with
Ann, and the younger girl stood out in radiant contrast. He had daily
fostered his jealous hatred for Horace, and, because of her allegiance
to her brother, he had come to loathe Ann, although he was more than
ever determined to marry her. The home in which he had been reared
repelled him, and he could now live only for the fame that would rise
from his talent and work, and for the pleasures that come to those
without heart or conscience. Almost the entire morning had been
consumed by these thoughts, when two men were ushered in to him.
"I'm Lon Cronk," said the taller of the two, "and this be Lem Crabbe,
and we hear that ye're a good lawyer."
Everett rose frowningly.
"I am a lawyer," said he; "but I choose my clients. I don't take
cases--"
"We'll pay ye well," interrupted Lon, "if it's money ye want. Ye can
have as much as that Mr. Shellin'ton--"
Everett dropped back again into his chair. The mention of Horace's name
silenced him. He motioned for the men to be seated, without taking his
eyes from Lem. The scowman's clothes were in shreds, and, as he lifted
his right arm, Brimbecomb saw the chapped red flesh, strapped to the
rusted iron hook. Although Lem had not spoken, the young lawyer noted
the silent convulsions going on in the dark, full throat, the unceasing
movements of the goiter.
"State your case to me, then," said he tersely.
Lon Cronk settled back and began to speak.
"There's a man here in this town by the name of Shellington. He's a
lawyer, too, and he's got my kids, and I want 'em. That's my case,
Mister."
Brimbecomb's heart began to beat tumultuously. Chance was giving him a
lead he could not have won of his own efforts, and he smiled, turning on
Cronk more cordially.
"Have you demanded your children of Mr. Shellington?" he asked.
"Yep."
Everett bent over eagerly.
"What did he say to you?"
"He says as how I could go to the devil, and that I could git the law
after him if I wanted 'em. Can I get 'em, Mister?"
The lawyer straightened up, and for many moments was deep in thought
before answering Lon. The chance of which he could never have dreamed
had come to him. This visit laid open a way for him to tear Fledra from
Horace; in fact, he could now legally take her from him with no
possibility of public discredit to himself. He narrowly observed the men
before him, and knew that he should later be able to force them to do as
he wished. He forgot his foster father and mother--aye, forgot even
Ann--as all that was black in his nature inflamed his desire for the
ebony-haired girl.
During several minutes he rapidly planned how he could bring the affair
to a favorable climax with the least possible danger. But, whether by
fair means or by foul, he resolved that Fledra should become his.
Presently, as if to gain time, he asked:
"Do you want them both?"
"Yep."
"The boy is ill, I hear," he said.
"That don't make no difference," cried Lon. "I want him jest the same.
Can ye get 'em fer me, Mister?"
"I think so," replied Everett; "and, if I take the case, I shall have to
ask you to keep out of it entirely, until I'm ready for you. We shall
probably have to go into court."
"Yep, ye'll have to bring it into court, all right, I know ye will. How
much money do ye want now?"
"Fifty dollars," replied Everett; "and it will be more if I have a suit,
and still more if I win. Come here again next week Monday, and I'll lay
my plans before you."
Lon clapped his shabby cap upon his head, and, with a surly
leave-taking, moved to go. Lem lagged behind; but a glance at the
lawyer's forbidding face sent him shuffling after the squatter.
* * * * *
Long after they were gone Everett sat planning a future course. He felt
sure that Horace would not allow the children to be taken from him
without a fight; he knew there were special statutes governing these
things, and took down a large book and began to read.
Much to his satisfaction, Brimbecomb found a letter from Mr. and Mrs.
Brimbecomb awaiting him at home that evening. In it his foster mother
informed him that they had decided to return to Tarrytown immediately
and make ready for a trip abroad, where they hoped that Mr. Brimbecomb
would recover his health. In a postscript from the noted lawyer, Everett
read:
I am glad that you are doing well, dear boy, and when my doctor said
that I must have a complete rest I knew that I could leave you in
charge of the office and go away satisfied.
There followed a few personalities, and after finishing the reader threw
it down with a smile. He had hesitated a moment over the thought that
his father would have a decided objection to the Cronk case. But his
desire to work against Horace had overcome his irresolution. Now his way
was clear! The sooner Mr. and Mrs. Brimbecomb were away, the better
pleased he would be.
* * * * *
Floyd was suddenly taken worse.
"I think, if you were to come and speak with him, he might feel better,"
said Ann to Horace. "He wants to see you. Fledra is with him."
Floyd was quiet now, his large eyes closed with quivering pain.
"Floyd!" murmured Horace, touching the lad gently.
The lids lifted, and he put up his hand.
"I'm glad ye come, Brother Horace," he said in a whisper. "I've been
wantin' to talk to ye. Will ye take Flea out, Sister Ann?"
Both girls left the room, as Horace drew a chair to the bed.
"I ain't goin' to get well," said Flukey slowly. "I know the doctor
thinks so, too, 'cause he said there was somethin' the matter with my
heart. And I have to go and leave Flea."
Shellington took the thin, white hand in his.
"You must not become downhearted, boy; that's not the way to get well.
And you're certainly better than when you came, in spite of this little
setback."
Floyd closed his eyes, and Horace saw silent tears rolling down the
boy's cheeks. The young man bent over him.
"Floyd, are you worrying about your sister?"
Flukey nodded an affirmative.
"Why?"
"Because she ain't the same as she was. And she ain't happy any more,
and I can't make her tell me. Have ye been ugly to her--have ye?"
Horace racked his mind for a truthful answer. Had he been unfair to
Fledra?
"Floyd," he said softly, "your sister and I have had some words; but we
shall soon understand each other--I know we shall!"
"What did ye say to Flea?"
"I can't tell you, Floyd, because I promised her I would not."
The boy writhed under the warm blankets.
"She's always makin' folks promise not to tell things," he moaned. "It's
because you're mad at her, that's what makes her cry so, and I can't do
anything for her. Can't you, Brother Horace?"
"She won't let me, Floyd."
"Did ye ask her?"
"Many times."
"Would she let ye if I asked her?"
"No, Floyd, you must not! I promised her that I would not speak with you
about her unhappiness." Horace ejaculated his reply so emphatically that
Floyd looked at him curiously.
"But I can't die and leave her that way, and I'm a goin' soon. Sometimes
my heart jest stands still, and won't start again till I lose all my
breath. A feller can't live that way, can he, Brother Horace?"
"It will pass off; of course, it will--it must!" Horace looked into the
worn, suffering young face, and a resolution took possession of him.
"Floyd," he said huskily, "Floyd, if I tell you something, will you keep
it from my sister and yours?"
"Yes," murmured Flukey.
"I love Fledra, and want to make her my wife. Does that help you any, to
know that I shall always watch her and care for her?"
Flukey searched the earnest face bent over him.
"Ye love her?"
"Very much, very much indeed. But she is young yet--only a little girl."
"Did ye tell her that ye loved her?"
"Yes."
"Did she say she loved you?"
"Yes."
Flukey groaned.
"Then it's something else than that, because I've known for a long time
that Flea loved ye. What's the matter? What's the matter with ye both?"
"Floyd, when I tell you that I do not know," answered Horace, "will you
believe me?"
"Did ye want her to tell ye somethin'--something that'll keep ye from
takin' her now?" Horace's silence drew an outpouring from Flukey. "And I
suppose she said she wouldn't--and ye won't take her unless she tells
ye. Then ye'll never get her; for, when Flea says she won't, she won't,
if she dies for it! Ain't ye lovin' her well enough to take her,
anyway?"