The Son of his Father

"Of course, it isn't a desirable thought to picture your mother playing at holding hands in dark corners with fellers who never had a hundred-to-one chance of being your father; also it isn't just pleasant to speculate on the tricks she had to play to get your father to the jumping-off mark; neither do you care to dwell on what she thought of the chorus girls your father was in the habit of buying wine for, and decorating up with fancy clothes and jewels in his spare moments. You don't feel it's a nice thing to think of the numbers of times some one else has had to take off your father's boots for him overnight, and bathe his aching head with ice-water to get him down town in the morning to his office. But it wouldn't hurt you a thing if parents made a point of remembering all these things for themselves, and would give up making you quit playing parlor games during sermon in church on Sundays and inventing your own words to the hymn tunes.

"Now let's jump to what I call the breaking-point of filial duty. It's the point when a kid gets old enough to master the inner meaning of the expression 'damn fool,' which has probably been liberally applied to him for years. It's the moment when physical discipline can no longer obtain for – physical reasons. It's the point when two real live men, or two real live women, face each other with a contentious situation lying between them. Where does obligation lie? Does it remain – anyway?

"In Nature it does not. In human nature it remains – chiefly because of undue sentimentalism. Now sentimentalism should be a luxury, and not a law. This is obvious to any mind not suffocated by the gases of decadence. I'd like to say Nature's laws are sane and just, and, since they are inspired by a great and wise Providence, it's not reasonable to guess they can be improved upon by a psalm-smiting set of folks, who spend their whole lives in wrapping 'emselves around with cotton batten to keep out the wholesome draughts of Nature's lungs.

"So I feel that when the breaking-point of filial duty is reached it is no longer mother and daughter, father and son, in the practicalities of life. Take commerce. Father and son are in competition. Each is fighting for his own. How far is a son justified in emptying an automatic pistol into his father's food depot, when that mistaken parent guesses he's yearning to storm his son's stronghold of commercial enterprise? How far is that father justified in doping his son's liquor, so he won't lie awake at nights planning to roll him for his wad next morning? Take a daughter and her momma. Most mothers act as though they had to live all their lives with their daughters' husbands. And most daughters act as though they preferred their mommas should. I ask: how far has a mother right to butt in to run her daughter's home doings, and so muss up for some one else what she was never able to do right for herself? Why shouldn't a daughter be allowed to make her own mess of things, and later on, when she collects sense, clean it up again the best she knows?

"These are questions in my mind. These are questions I don't just seem able to answer right myself, and sort of feel they'd have given old Sol some insomnia, in spite of all his glory over the baby episode he made such a song about. Well, I put 'em down here, and maybe you can tell me about 'em, and, anyway, they make some problem.

"Maybe I haven't set out my news to the best advantage, but my mind is very busy with fixing things as they should go. You see, I'm working hard in the old Dad's interest, and am hoping soon to get that little word of approval from him which means so much, coming from so great a man. I am looking forward to seeing you again soon, and hope to see your dear, smiling face and pretty eyes just as bright and happy as I always remember them. Give my love to our Gracie, and tell her that the only way to get rid of those peculiarly spindle lower legs, which have always been one of her worst physical defects, is to adopt ankle exercises. It's a defect, like many others in her character, which can be improved with conscientious effort and patience.

"Your loving son,

"GORDON.

"P.S. – Your future daughter-in-law is just crazy to be taken into your motherly fold.

"G."

Mr. Harker's face was wreathed in smiles at the thought of the pleasant news it was his good fortune to be conveying to the wife of his chief. His smile remained until he heard the trim maid's announcement at the door of Mrs. Carbhoy's boudoir. Then the smile vanished, as though it had never been, and his well-nourished features became an assortment of troubled bewilderment. Furthermore, within five minutes of his ushering into the lady's presence he had registered a solemn vow that celibacy should remain his lot, until the day that saw his ample remains become a subject for cooking operations by the crematorium experts.

Mr. Harker was certainly unfortunate in his selection of the moment at which to pay his call. Mrs. James Carbhoy had had half an hour since reading her son's letter, in which to pursue that hateful hyphenated word "daughter-in-law" through every darkened channel of her somewhat limited mental machinery.

Daughter-in-law! It was everywhere. She could not lose sight of it. She could not escape its haunting meaning. It pursued her wherever she went. It was there, lurking amidst the folds of her gowns if she peered inside the great hanging wardrobes. It danced like a will-o'-the-wisp in every mirror which her troubled eyes chanced to encounter. It was interwoven with the patterns of the carpets; and the wall-paperings found a lurking-place for it amidst the unreal foliage which adorned them. It laughed at her when she angrily turned away to avoid it, and when she endeavored to defy it its mocking only increased. So it was that the unoffending Harker encountered the full tide of her angry alarm and maternal despair.

Mr. Harker had prepared a well-turned opening for his excellent news. But it was never used. Even as his lips moved to speak they remained sealed, held silent by the bitter cry of outraged maternal pride.

"He's married!" she cried. "Married – and I – I have never been consulted!"

Mr. Harker felt as though he had been caught up in the whirl of a physical encounter in which his opponent held all the advantage.

Mrs. Carbhoy waited for no comment. She rushed headlong, following up her advantage, smashing in "lefts" and "rights" indiscriminately.

"It's disgraceful – terrible! The ingratitude of it! After all his father and I have done for him! To think how we've always guided and taught him! The callous selfishness! The moment he's out of our sight – this – this is what happens. He's picked up with some wicked, designing female, whose father's certain to be a – a – gaolbird – or, anyway, ought to be. Not a word to a soul. We – we don't know who she is – or – or what. He don't even say her name. Daughter-in-law! It's – it's – Mr. Harker, I'm just wondering when I'll come over all crazy."

Mr. Harker welcomed the pause.

"You say Mr. Gordon's married?" he demanded incredulously.

"Yes – no. That is, he – he says 'your future daughter-in-law'!"

Mr. Harker breathed a deep relief and strove to smile confidence upon his chief's wife.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Gordon was always one for the girls. But he wouldn't make a fool of himself that way – "

In a moment the second round of the battle was raging.

"Fool? Fool? Every man's a fool, if some woman chooses!" cried Mrs. Carbhoy, and promptly hurled herself into a bitter tirade against her sex, sparing no race of monsters from likeness to it.

Mr. Harker was forced to submit from sheer inability to compete with the rapid flow of expression. But later on he had his opportunity at what he considered to be the termination of the "second round," while his opponent retired to her corner to be fanned by her seconds.

"Anyway, ma'am, if he's not yet married there's still hope. I guess Mr. Carbhoy's wise to what's doing with him. You see, he's been there with him."

"James Carbhoy!" The contemptuous emphasis on her husband's name opened the "third round," and Mr. Harker felt that the timekeeper had called "time" before he was ready.

For three full minutes the scornful wife of the millionaire recited an amplified denunciation upon husbands in general and millionaires in particular. But even so the round had to come to its natural conclusion, and when they were both resting once more in their "corners," Mr. Harker achieved something almost approaching success.

"You know, Mrs. Carbhoy, I was feeling pretty good coming along here in my automobile. Mr. Gordon's something more to me than just your son. We're real good friends, and I was feeling as anxious for his future as maybe you were. Well, when I got word from your husband at Snake's saying that he'd turned our affairs over to Mr. Gordon I was real glad, and I felt now here was the boy's chance. Then, day after day, along come his instructions, and I saw by the grip he'd got on things he'd taken his chance, and was pushing it through with as much smartness as Mr. Carbhoy himself might have shown. I was more than gratified, ma'am. Why, only to-day I've received word of a big coal option he's taken for us. As he's got it it's something for nothing. Nobody could have done better, not even your husband, ma'am. I really can't think there's going to be any mistakes about – strange females."

The man's tribute had a mollifying effect upon the mother. But she was still the "mother" rather than a creature of logic. She saw her boy being led to his undoing by some designing creature of her own sex, and her instinct warned her of the hideous dangers to millionaires' sons inherent in so guileful a race.

"If I could only feel that he was experienced in the world," she said helplessly. "But what does our poor Gordon know of women?"

Mr. Harker smiled. He was thinking with the intimacy of one man who knows another. He knew, too, something of the way in which Gordon's money had generally been spent.

"We must hope the best, ma'am," he said, with a hypocritical sigh. "He's evidently not married, so – what do you intend to do about it while Mr. Carbhoy is on the coast?"

"Do? Do? Why, I shall just go up to Snake's whatever-it-is, or Buffalo what's-its-name, and – and – "

"I should wait awhile, ma'am, if I were you," Mr. Harker interrupted her, fearing another outburst. "I'm expecting David Slosson in the city soon. He's one of our confidential men who's been working up at Snake's for us. I haven't heard from him for quite a while. He's sure to be along down soon, because he's got to make a report. Maybe he can tell us just how things are. Anyway, I wouldn't go up there. It's a queer, wild sort of place, and in no way fit for you."

"Will Slosson be around soon?"

"Sure, ma'am."

"Then I'll wait," cried the troubled mother, without cordiality. Then she appealed to the man who had always been something more than a mere commercial figure in her husband's life. "You know, if anything went wrong with my boy, Mr. Harker, it would just break my heart. I – I couldn't bear it. But I tell you right here there's no wretched female going to play her tricks on our Gordon with me around, and while I've got James Carbhoy's millions to my hand. And if your man Slosson don't give us satisfactory news of the boy, then, if Snake's what's-its-name were the worst place on earth – I should make it."

"If it comes to that, ma'am, there are other folks feel that way, too," said the manager earnestly. "But meanwhile I'd say don't worry a thing."

"I don't!" snapped the mother sharply. "The person who'll need to do all the worrying is that – female."

CHAPTER XXIV

PREPARING FOR THE FINALE

"I'm getting scared, Gordon. Real truth, I am."

Hazel was in the saddle. Gordon had just mounted Sunset. It was the close of a long, arduous, triumphant day for Gordon, and he was feeling very happy, though mentally weary. The horses moved off before he made any reply. He had just dismissed Peter McSwain and Mike Callahan, with whom he had been in close consultation, and Hazel's father was still within the office to see to its closing for the night and the departure of the clerical staff.

The way lay towards the ranch, and the trail the horses were taking skirted the new township, now no longer a waste of untrodden grass, but a busy camp with a strongly flowing human tide.

Hazel had come to meet him at her lover's urgent request, and she was glad enough to get away from the old ranch house, where the charge of her captive there was seriously beginning to trouble her. Now she had at last voiced something of those feelings which the rapid passing of the weeks had steadily inspired. She knew that her peace of mind demanded some change from this worrying situation. In her loyalty she had struggled to perform her share in the conspiracy. She knew, too, that she had succeeded fairly well, and that her efforts were all appreciated to their full. She had contrived that her lover's father should never know a moment's discomfort. That his life in captivity should be made as easy and pleasant as possible. There were no signs that it had been otherwise, but now, seven weeks had elapsed since his arrival, and what had just seemed a scandalous joke to her originally, had become a sort of painful nightmare which she was longing to throw off. The moment she and Gordon were actually alone, she had been impelled to break the silence which was steadily undermining her nerve.

Gordon's horse was close abreast of the brown mare, and its rider smiled down from his great height upon the pretty tailored figure of the girl who had become all the world to him.

"I know," he said sympathetically. "It's sort of that way with me, too. I don't just mean I'm scared. There's nothing for me to be scared about. It's – sort of conscience with me. As for your father – say" – his smile broadened – "he's taken to his eye-patch with everybody – me, too. I guess that means he's worried no end."

"What – what are you going to do – then?"

Hazel eagerly watched that big, open, ingenuous face with its widely smiling blue eyes. And, watching it, she discerned added signs of a growing humor. Finally he laughed outright.

"Say, we're just the limit for a bunch of conspirators. Yes – the limit. You're the only one of us who's had the moral courage to put your feelings into words. We're all scared. We've all been scared these weeks. Your father's scared, so he can't look at any man with two eyes. Peter's all of a shiver every time he comes within hailing distance of the sheriff. As for Mike – well, Mike's sold all his holdings, and is bursting to sell his livery business, all but one team, so he'll have the means of skipping the border at a minute's notice. Say, have you figured out how we stand? How I stand? Well, from a point of law I guess I'm a good candidate for ten years' penitentiary. I've kidnapped two men; one's a dirty dog, anyway, and the other's one of the biggest millionaires in the country. I've fraudulently played up a railroad. I've started this boom on the biggest fraud ever practiced. I've – say, ten years! Why, I guess the tally of this adventure looks to me like twenty in the worst penitentiary to be found in the country. It – makes me perspire to think of it."

He was laughing in a perfectly reckless fashion, and, in spite of her very real fears, Hazel perforce found herself joining in.

"It's desperate, Gordon," she cried. "And as for you, who worked it all out, and led it, you – you are the dearest blackguard ever breathed." Then quite suddenly her eyes sobered, and her apprehension returned with a rush. "But how long is – it to last? I – I can't go on much longer, and your father's getting restive and suspicious."

Gordon reached down and patted Sunset's crested neck.

"It's finished now. That's why I asked you to come and meet me. I've sold."

"You've sold?"

In a moment the last shadow of fear had passed out of the girl's pretty eyes. Now she was agog with excited admiration.

"Yes." The man nodded. "It had to be done carefully. I've been selling quietly for days and now it's finished. I didn't get the prices I hoped quite, but that was because I felt I dared not wait longer to clear up the general mess I'd made. Your father helped me, and I now sit here with a roll of precisely one hundred and five thousand dollars, and a definite promise to your father to fix things with the great James Carbhoy so no trouble is coming to any one – not even Slosson. I don't know. Now it's all over I'm sort of sorry. You know this sort of thing – the excitement of beating folks – is a great play. I want to be at it all the time."

"You've got to meet your father yet," said the girl warningly.

"The old dad? Why, yes, I s'pose I have." Gordon chuckled. "Say, I don't wonder folks taking to crooked ways. They just set your blood tingling like – like a glass of champagne on an empty stomach. Just look out there." He pointed at the new township. "Say, isn't it wonderful? All in a few weeks. And all the result of one man's crookedness."

"And your father has been a – prisoner – the whole time. Over seven weeks," rebuked the girl.

"But it's only three weeks since I met you that night on the trail, Hazel. No other time concerns me. Not even the dear old dad's captivity. That was the beginning of all things that matter for me."

"You seem to date everything around that – ridiculous episode," said Hazel slyly. "I – "

"I do."

"Don't interrupt me, sir. I was going to assure you that your proper spirit should be one of contrition for what you have made your father endure."

"It is."

"You said you didn't care."

"I don't."

"Then – "

Gordon burst out into a happy laugh.

"Don't you see, dear? I just don't care for, or think about anything else in the world. You – you – you are just mine, so what's the use of talking of the old dad."

"Really? True? True?" The girl's tender eyes were melting as they gazed up into her lover's. "More to you than all – this?" She indicated the busy life on the new township. The miracle, as she regarded it, which he had worked. The man smiled, his eyes full of a great, tender love. "I'm glad," the girl sighed. "It isn't always so with men – where the making of money is concerned, is it?" She breathed a great contentment and happiness. "Yes, I'm – so glad. It's the same with me, but – I want all this to go on right – because of you. I want your success. I want your success as a man, and – with your father. I'm very jealous for those things now. You see, you belong to me, don't you?" She turned and gazed away across the plain. "Oh, it's good to see it all – to see all the busy work going on. Look there – and there," she pointed quickly in many directions. "Buildings going up. Temporary buildings. The substantial structures to come later. Then the road gangs at work. The carpenters at the sidewalks. The surveyors. The teams and wagons. Above all, that depot being built with all expedition by – your father." She laughed happily and clapped her hands. "It's all growing every day. A mushroom town. And you – you have made that money your great father dared you to make. Dared you – you, and you have made it out of him! Oh, dear! the humor of it is enough to make a cat laugh. Here you, by sheer audacity and roguery, have held up a railroad and coolly played the highwayman on your own father!"

Gordon shook his head.

"Call it grabbing opportunity. It was an opportunity which came my way through the trifling oversight of forgetting to return the private code book which the old dad had entrusted to my care. Say, I can never thank the dad enough for that half-hour talk in his office which sent me out into the wilderness. If he hadn't handed it to me, I should never have blundered into Snake's; and if I hadn't blundered into Snake's I shouldn't have found you. I guess my parent's just one of the few to whom a son owes anything. He gave me life, but didn't stop at that. He gave me you."

Hazel's eyes were smiling happily.

"And in return you lay violent hands on him, and incarcerate him while you do your best to rob him."

"It sounds pretty bad."

"If I didn't know you I'd say that gratitude fell out of your cradle and killed herself when the fairies got around at your birth. But you didn't ask me to ride all these miles in to – to say just all these nice things to me, Gordon? Besides, now you've completed your – graft, what about your poor long-suffering prisoners? How are you going to save us all from the consequences of your evil ways? Your father will hate me." The girl sighed in pretended despair. "He'll never consent to – to – "

"Our marriage? Say, if I'm a judge of things I'll have to stand by so he don't embrace you too often, himself."

They both laughed like the two happy children they were. There was no cloud that could mar the sun of their delight now. Hazel, for all her fears, had perfect faith in this great reckless creature. She had never been able to obscure the memory of his battle with Slosson on her behalf. Her faith was unbounded.

So they rode on, leaving the busy new world the man had created behind them, as they made their way on towards the ranch. They were leaving everything behind them, the shadows and sunlight of past strenuous days, which is the way of youth. They gazed ahead towards the future with every confidence, and lived in a perfect present which contained only their two selves.

It was not until they had nearly reached the ranch, and the wide pasture stocked with grazing cattle came into view, that the girl was able to pin her lover down to the urgent matters which lay ahead of him. Then she received from that simple creature the brief account of his intentions. For a moment she was staggered. Then, after a brief digestion of the details, she began to laugh. The rank absurdity and impudence of them took her fancy, and she found herself caught in the humor of it all, and ready again to carry out his lightest wish.

"It's still the same, you see," Gordon finished up. "I still want you, and your precious help, the same as I always shall. I just can't do a thing without you, and as long as you are with me, why, I don't guess failure's got a chance of getting its nose in front. I've got it all fixed, if you'll play your part. All I ask is, for the Lord's sake don't start in to laugh at the critical time. I want you scared to death till I appear, and then you'll just need to chase up an attack of hysterics or something, throw your heels around and yell blue murder, and finish up by grabbing me around the neck, and fainting dead away with happiness. The rest I'll see to. It's some situation for you, but don't worry when the limelight leaves you in the dark and finds its way to me. It's just the sort of thing you can find in any old dime novel. The heroines always act that way, and the hero, too. When you get back, start right in to think about every dime story you've ever read. Remember all the things the heroines ever did, and then do 'em all yourself. See? Guess that isn't as clear as it might be, but when you've filtered it through that bright little head of yours it'll be like spring water in a moss-grown mountain creek."

"Whatever will he say when he knows?" laughed the girl.

"Say? well, that's not an easy guess," retorted Gordon, with a responsive laugh. "But, anyway, it's dead sure he'll think a heap more. Say, there's just one thing more. When you come-to out of that joyous faint, you got to leave us together for half an hour. Maybe you'll have some sort of preparation to make, or something. Sort of stagger out of the room supported by me, and if Hip-Lee attempts to butt in during that half hour – kill him."

"You really want me to do – all this?" Hazel's laughing eyes were raised questioningly.

"Everything, but – the killing."

"The fainting – really?"

"Sure." The man's eyes opened wide. "It's the picture. It's the reality. It's the local color."

"Oh, dear!" laughed Hazel, as they rode up to the ranch house. "I suppose I've got to do it."

"You will?"

Gordon flung himself out of the saddle. Hazel laughingly held out her hand in assurance.

"My hand on it, Gordon, dear," she cried.

The man seized it in both of his. Then, regardless of what sharp eyes might be peeping in their direction, he reached up, and, catching her about the waist, drew her down towards him till her head was level with his, and kissed her rapturously.