Part 19

“Well, you differ from me,” said Baker; “that's just what I was doin'. I was lookin' fer you, Nelson. I begun yesterday an' kept it up till I seed you go by the Kimball jest now like you was shot out of a gun, an' I bent to the trail, an' here I am. Yes, I want to see you. I've got a favor to ax, old friend.”

“Well, you can have anything I've got.” Floyd smiled rather sheepishly as he laid his hand on Pole's shoulder. “The only trouble right now is that I'm pressed for time. A lot depends on what may take place in the next two hours, and I'm afraid to think of anything else. When do you go back?”

“Oh, I kin take a train any time. I'm in no big hurry, Nelson. All I want is to get to talk to you a few minutes.”

“Then I'll tell you what to do,” Floyd proposed. “Take this key to my room at the Kimball House. I've got a bed to spare up there. And, more than that, Pole, go in and take your supper in my place. It will be all right. I registered on the American plan. Then I'll meet you in the room about eight o'clock. You see, it's this way: I've brought a fellow with me from Birmingham, and he's back there in the office now. He and I are on a trade for all my iron lands in Alabama. A thing like this is a big, exciting game with me; it drives out all other thoughts, and, the Lord knows, right now I need some diversion. He and I are going to the house of a friend of his in the country and take early supper there. I'll be back by eight, sure, Pole.”

“That'll suit me all right,” said Pole, as he took the key and looked at the number on the brass tag. “I'll be there, Nelson. I wouldn't let you stand for my expenses, but if your bill's paid anyway, that's different.”

“Yes, it won't cost me a cent extra,” said Floyd. “Here comes my man now. I'd introduce you, but we are in a devil of a hurry.”

“Are you ready?” a middle-aged man in a linen suit and straw hat asked, as he walked up hastily. “I'll make the driver strike a brisk gait.”

“Yes, I'm ready,” Floyd said, and he turned to Baker. “Don't forget, Pole.” As he was walking away, he threw back: “I'll meet you at eight or before, sure. I don't want to miss you.”

XXXVII

THAT night, after supper, Pole was in Floyd's room at the hotel. The weather being warm, he had raised the window, which opened on a busy street, and sat smoking, with his coat off. From the outside came the clanging of street-car bells and the shrill voices of newsboys crying the afternoon papers. Suddenly he heard the iron door of the elevator slide back, and a moment later Floyd stood on the threshold of the room.

“Well, I succeeded, Pole!” he cried, sitting down on the window-sill and fanning himself with his straw hat. “I sold out, lock, stock, and barrel, and at an advance that I never would have dreamed of asking if I hadn't been in a reckless mood. Really, I didn't know the property was so valuable. My man kept hanging onto me, following me from place to place, wanting to know what I'd take, till finally, simply to get rid of him, I priced the property at three times what I had ever asked for it. To mv astonishment, he said he would come over to Atlanta with me, and if certain friends of his would help him carry it he would trade. Pole, my boy, I've made more money to-day than I've made all the rest of my life put together, and”--Floyd sighed as he tossed his hat on one of the beds and locked his hands behind his neck--“I reckon I care less for material prosperity than I ever did.”

“Well, I'm glad you made a good trade,” Pole said. “You were born lucky, my boy.”

“Oh, I don't know,” answered Floyd; “but here I am talking about my own affairs when you came to see me about yours. What can I do for you, Pole? If it's money you want, you certainly came to headquarters, and you can get all you want and no questions asked.”

“I didn't come to see you on my own business, Nelson,” Pole answered. “I'm here on account of old man Mayhew. Nelson, he's mighty nigh plumb crazy over you bein' away. He can't run that thing up thar single-handed; he's leaned too long on you fer that, an' then he's gittin' old and sorter childish. I never knowed it before, Nelson, but he looks on you sorter like a son. The old fellow's eyes got full an' he choked up when he was beggin' me to come down here an' see you. He gathered from yore last letter that you intended to go West and live, an' he called me in an' begged me to come and persuade you not to do it. Nelson, I'll hate it like rips, too, ef you leave us. Them old mountains is yore rightful home, an' I'm here to tell you that God Almighty never give any one man more friends than you've got amongst them plain, honest folks. By gum! they jest stand around in bunches an' talk an' talk about you an'--an' yore--late trouble. Thar ain't one in the lot but what 'ud be glad to help you bear it.”

Floyd stood up suddenly, and, with his hands behind him, he began to walk back and forth across the room.

“It's the only spot on earth I'll ever care about,” Pole heard him say in a deep, husky voice, “and God knows I love the people; but I don't want to go back, Pole. Fate rather rubbed it in on me up there. All my early life I nursed the hope that I would eventually be able to prove that my parents were good, respectable people, and then when I was beginning to despair it went out that I belonged to a great and high family, and the aristocracy of the section extended their hands and congratulated me and patted me on the back. But that wasn't for long. My guardian angel--my old stand-by, Pole--came to me with a malignant grin and handed me the information that I was--was what you couldn't call the humblest man you know up there and live a minute later.”

“I know--I know, Nelson,” sighed Pole, his honest face tortured by inward sympathy. “I see you've got a big, big argument in favor o' the step you are thinking about, but I want to see if I can't put it to you in another light. Listen to me, my boy. Different men suffer in different ways. Maybe you don't think I've suffered any to speak of. But, my boy, when I was tried by my peers up thar, in the open court of God's soft starlight---when my neighbors, well-meanin', fair-thinkin' folks, come to me in the night-time an' called me out to lay the lash on my bare back fer wilful neglect o' them that was dear an' true to me, all--all, I say--that was wuth a tinker's damn in me sunk down, down into the bottomless pit o' hell. I thought about shirkin', about pullin' up stakes an' goin' away off some'rs to begin new, but I seed that wouldn't wipe it out o' folks' memories, nor out o' me, and so I decided to stay right thar an' fight--fight it to a finish. It was awful to meet them men in the light o' day with the'r masks off, an' know what each one was a-think-in', but I went through it, and, thank God, I begin to see light ahead. It looks like they understand my struggle an' think none the less o' me. Lord, Lord, ef you could jest witness the kind words an' gentle ways o' them men towards me an' mine now, you'd believe what preachers say about the spirit o' God dwellin' in every man's breast.”

Floyd had turned, and he now laid a sympathetic hand on Pole's shoulder.

“I knew what you were going through,” he said, “and I wanted to help you, but didn't know how. Then this damned thing came on me like a bolt from a clear sky.”

“Nelson, listen to me. I am here to-night to beg you to do like I done--to come back to yore old home and meet that thing face to face. As God is my judge, I believe sech great big troubles as yore'n are laid on folks fer a good purpose. Other men have gone through exactly what you've had to bear, an' lived to become great characters in the history o' the world's progress. Nelson, that's the one an' only thing left fer you to do. It's hell, but it will be fer yore own good in the end. Buck up agin it, my boy, an' what seems hard now will look as easy after a while as failin' off a log.”

Floyd turned and began to walk back and forth again. The room was filled with silence. Through the open window came the sound of brass musical instruments, the rattling of a tambourine, the ringing of cymbals. Then a clear voice--that of a young woman--rose in a sacred song. It was a band of Salvationists clustered near a street corner under a hanging arc light. Floyd paused near to Pole and looked thoughtfully from the window; then he sat down on the bed. For a moment he stared at the floor, and then, folding his arms across his breast, he suddenly raised his head.

“Pole,” he said, firmly, “I'm going to take your advice.”

There was silence. The two men sat facing each other. Suddenly the mountaineer leaned over and said: “Give me your hand on it, Nelson. You'll never regret this as long as you live.”

Floyd extended his hand and then got up and began to walk back and forth across the room again.

“I've got another trouble to bear, Pole,” he said, gloomily.

“You say you have, Nelson?”

“Yes, and it is worse than all. Pole, I've lost the love of the only woman I ever really cared for.”

“You mean Cynthia Porter?” said Pole, and he leaned forward, his eyes burning.

Floyd nodded, took one or two steps, and then paused near to Pole. “You don't know it, perhaps, but I've been back up there lately.”

“Oh no!”

“Yes, I went back to see her. I couldn't stay away from her. I had been on a protracted spree. I was on the brink of suicide, in a disordered condition of mind and body, when all at once it occurred to me that perhaps she might not absolutely scorn me. Pole, the very hope that she might be willing to share my misfortune suddenly sobered me. I was in an awful condition, but I stopped drinking and went up there one night. I secretly met her and proposed an elopement. The poor little girl was so excited that she would not decide then, but she agreed to give me her final decision a week later.”

“Great God! you don't mean it, Nelson!” the mountaineer cried in surprise--“shorely you don't!”

“Yes, I do. Then I went back to fill the appointment, but she had confided it all to her mother, and the old lady came out and told me that Cynthia not only refused me, but that she earnestly hoped I would never bother her again.”

“My Lord!” Pole exclaimed; “and there was a time when I actually thought--but that's _her_ matter, Nelson. A man hain't got no right on earth dabblin' in a woman's heart-affairs. To me nothin' ain't more sacred than a woman's choice of her life-partner.”

“Mrs. Porter hinted plainly that Cynthia was thinking of marrying Hillhouse,” said Floyd.

“Ah, now I begin to see ahead!” the farmer said, reflectively. “Cynthia's down at Cartersville now, on a visit to her cousins, and the long-legged parson is there, too, filling in for another preacher. I don't pretend to understand women, Nelson. Thar's been a lots o' talk about her and Hillhouse since you went off. I axed Sally what she thought about it, an' she seemed to think if Cynthia had quit thinkin' o' you it was due to the reports in circulation that you had started in to drinkin'. Sally thought that Cynthia was one woman that 'ud not resk her chance with a drinkin' man. Cynthia's a good girl, Nelson, and maybe she thinks she kin make herse'f useful in life by marrying a preacher. I dunno. And then he is a bright sort of fellow; he is sharp enough to know that she is the smartest and best unmarried woman in Georgia. Well, that will be purty hard fer you to bear, but you must face it along with the other, my boy.”

“Yes, I've got to grin and bear it,” Floyd said, almost under his breath. “I've got to face that and the knowledge that I might have won her if I had gone about it in the right way. From my unfortunate father I have inherited some gross passions, Pole, and I was not always strong enough to rise above them. I made many big mistakes before I met her, and even after that, I blush to say, my old tendency clung to me so that--well, I never understood her, as she really deserved, till the day you raked me over the coals at the bush-arbor meeting. Pole, that night, when she and I were thrown by the storm in that barn together, I remembered all you said. It seemed to give me new birth, and I saw her for the first time as she was, in all her wonderful womanly strength and beauty of character and soul, and from that moment I loved her. My God, Pole, the realization of that big, new passion broke over me like a great, dazzling light. It took me in its grasp and shook everything that was vile and gross out of me. From that moment I could never look into her face for very shame of having failed to comprehend her.”

“I seed you was in danger,” Pole said, modestly. “It was a mighty hard thing to have to talk as I did to a friend, but I felt that it was my duty, and out it come. I'm not goin' to take no hand in this, though, Nelson. I think you are in every way worthy o' her, but, as I say, only a woman kin tell who she ought to yoke with fer life. If she refused you, after due deliberation, an' decided on another man, why, I hain't one single word to say. I'm after her happiness, as I'm after yore'n. I'd like to see you linked together, but ef that ain't to be, then I want to see you both happy apart.”

For a moment neither spoke. Then it seemed that Pole wanted to change the subject.

“In tryin' to run upon you this mornin', Nelson,” he said, “I went out to yore--out to Henry A. Floyd's. That woman, his housekeeper, met me at the door an' let me inside the hall. She's a kind, talkative old soul, and she's worried mighty nigh to death about the old man. She remembered seein' me before, an' she set in to tellin' me all about his troubles. It seems that he's had some lawsuit, an' his last scrap o' property is to be tuck away from him. She told me thar was a debt of three thousand dollars to pay in the morning or' everything would go. While she was talkin' he come along, lookin' more dead than alive, an' I axed 'im ef he could put me on to yore track. He glared at me like a crazy man; his jaws was all sunk in, an' with his gray hair an' beard untrimmed, an' his body all of a quiver, he simply looked terrible.

“'No,' said he, 'I don't know whar you kin find 'im. I've heard that he was in trouble, an' I'm sorry, fer I know what trouble means,' an' with that he stood thar twistin' his hands an' cryin' like a pitiful little child about the three thousand dollars his creditors wanted, an' that thar wasn't a ghost of a chance to raise it. He said he'd made every effort, an' now was starin' starvation in the face. He turned an' went back to his room, puttin' his old, bony hand on the wall to keep from failin' as he moved along. I'm a pore man, Nelson, but, by all that's holy, ef I'd 'a' had the money the old chap wanted this mornin' I'd 'a' hauled it out an' 'a' kissed it farewell. I'm that way, Nelson. A fool an' his money is soon parted. I'd 'a' been seven idiots in a row ef I'd 'a' had that much cash, fer I'd certainly 'a' yanked that squirmin' old. chap off'n his bed o' coals.”

Floyd bent towards the speaker. Their eyes met understandingly.

“But I've got money, Pole--money to spare--and that old wreck is my father's only brother. I've made a fortune in a single deal to-day. Look here, Pole, I'm going out there to-night--_to-night_, do you understand?--to-night, before he goes to bed, and give him a check that will more than cover his shortage.”

“Are you goin' to do that, Nelson?”

“Yes, I am. Do you want to come along to witness it?”

“No, I'll wait fer you here, but God bless you, my boy. You'll never, never be sorry fer it, if you live to be a hundred years old.”

Floyd sat down at a table, and, with a checkbook in hand, was adjusting his fountain-pen. Pole went to the window and looked out. Down in the glare below a woman in a blue hood and dress stood praying aloud, in a clear, appealing voice, while all about her were grouped the other Salvationists and a few earnest-eyed spectators.

“That's right, Miss Blue-frock,” Pole said to himself; “go ahead an' rake in yore converts from the highways an' byways, but I've got one in this room you needn't bother about. By gum! ef it was jest a little darker in here, I'll bet I could see a ring o' fire round his head.”

XXXVIII

IN the street below, Nelson took a car for his uncle's residence, and fifteen minutes later he was standing on the veranda ringing the bell. Through a window on his left he looked into a lighted room. He saw old Floyd's bent figure moving about within, and then the housekeeper admitted him into the dimly lighted hall. She regarded him with surprise as she recalled his face.

“You want to see Mr. Floyd?” she said. “I'll see if he will let you come in. He's in a frightful condition, sir, over his troubles. Really, sir, he's so desperate I'm afraid he may do himself some harm.”

Leaving Nelson standing in the hall, she went into the lighted room, and the young man heard her talking persuasively to her master. Presently she came back and motioned the visitor to enter. He did so, finding the old man standing over a table covered with letters, deeds, and other legal documents. He did not offer his hand, and the young man stood in some embarrassment before him.

“Well,” old Floyd said, “what do you want? Are you here to gloat over me?”

“No, I am not,” returned the visitor. “It is simply because I do not feel that way that I came. A friend of mine was here to-day, and he said you were in trouble.”

“Trouble?--huh!” snarled old Floyd. “I guess you are glad to know that.”

“I certainly am not,” Nelson said, warmly. “I heard of it only a few minutes ago at the Kimball House, where I am staying, and I took the first car to reach you. I wish I had heard of the matter earlier--that is, if you will allow me to help you out.”

“You--you help me?” Old Floyd extended his thin hand and drew a chair to him and sank into it. “They've all talked that way--every money-lender and banker that I have applied to. They all say they want to help, but when they look at these”--Floyd waved his hand despondently over the documents--“when they look at these, and see the size of the mortgage, they make excuses and back out. I don't want to waste time with you. I know what sort of man you are. You have made what you've got by being as close as the bark on a tree, and I'm going to tell you at the outset that I haven't any security--not a dollar's worth.”

“I didn't want security,” Nelson said, looking sympathetically down into the withered face.

“You don't want--” The old man, his hands on his knees, made an effort to rise, but failed. “My Lord, you say you don't want security; then--then what the devil _do_ you want?”

“I want to _give_ you the money, if you'll do me the honor to accept it,” Nelson declared. “My friend told me the amount was exactly three thousand. I have drawn this check for four.” The young man was extending the pink slip of paper towards him. “And if that is not enough to put you squarely on your feet, I am ready to increase it.”

“You mean--” The old man took the check and, with blearing eyes and shaking hands, examined it in the lamplight. “You mean that you will _give_--actually, _give_ me four thousand dollars, when I haven't a scrap of security to put up?”

“Yes, that's exactly what I mean.”

Old Floyd took his eyes from the check and shrinkingly raised them to the young man's face. Then he dropped the paper on the table and groaned. There was silence for a moment. The housekeeper, passing by the open door, looked in wonderingly, and moved on. The old man saw her, and, rising suspiciously, he shambled to the door and closed it. Then he turned aimlessly and came slowly back, his hand pressed to his brow.

“I can't make it out,” Nelson heard him muttering. “I'm afraid of it. It may be a trick, and yet what trick could anybody play on a man in the hole I'm in? _Four thousand?_” He was looking first at the check and then at his caller. “Four thousand would save me from actual ruin--it would make me comfortable for life. I can't believe you mean to give it to me--really _give_ it. The world isn't built that way. It would be very unbecoming in me to doubt you, to impugn your motives, sir, but I'm all upset. The doctors say my mind is affected. One lawyer, a sharper, suggested that I could get out of this debt by claiming that I was not mentally responsible when I signed the papers, but that wouldn't work. I knew mighty well what I was doing. Now, on top of it all, here you come--_you_ of all living men--and, in so many plain English words--offer to give me a thousand more than the debt. Sir, I don't want to be impolite, but I simply can't believe that you mean it.”

Greatly moved, the young man put his hands on the old man's shoulders and gently pressed him down into his chair; then he got another and sat close to him.

“Try to look at this thing calmly,” he said. “In the first place, you don't understand me. You are not a relative of mine by law, but by blood you are the only one I ever saw. You are the brother of the man who gave me life--such as it is--and, for aught I know, you may even resemble him. I have been in great trouble over the revelations you made recently, but all that has burned itself to a cinder within me, and I have determined to go back up there in the mountains and face it. But that isn't all. Certain investments I have made in the past are turning out money in the most prodigal manner. The amount I am offering you is a mere trifle to what I have made in one single transfer of property to-day. I sincerely want you to take it. It would give me great joy to help you, and, if you refuse, it will pain me more than I can say. We are not relatives before the world, but we are by ties of nature, and I pity you to-night as I never pitied any human being in my life.”

“My God! my God!” The old man struggled again to his feet, his eyes avoiding Nelson's earnest stare. “Wait here. Keep your seat, sir. Let me think. I can't take your money without making a return for it. Let me think.” He tottered to the door, opened it, and passed out into the hall. There Nelson heard him striding back and forth for several minutes. Presently he came back. He was walking more erectly. There was in his eyes a flitting gleam of hope. Approaching, he laid a quivering hand on Nelson's shoulder. “I have thought of a plan,” he said, almost eagerly. “Your partner in business, Mr.--Mr. Mayhew, came down here looking for you, and he told me how my unpleasant disclosure had unstrung you, upset your prospects, and caused you to leave home. Now, see here. It has just occurred to me that I am actually the only living individual who knows the--the true facts about your birth and your father's life. Now here is what I can and will do--you see, what _I_ say, what _I_ testify to during my lifetime will stand always. I am willing to take that--that money, if you will let me give you sworn papers, showing that it was all a mistake, and that your parents were actually man and wife. This could harm no one, and it would be only justice to you.”

Nelson stood up suddenly. It was as if a great light had suddenly burst over him. His blood bounded through his veins.

“You will do that?” he cried--“to?”

“Yes, and not a living soul could ever contradict it,” the old man said, eagerly. “I can put into your hands indisputable proof. More than that, I'll write up to Mayhew and Duncan in your neighborhood and show the matter in a thoroughly new light.”

The eyes of the two men met. For a moment there was silence in the room so profound that the flame of the lamp made an audible sound like the drone of an imprisoned insect. The old man was the first to speak.

“What do you say?” he asked, almost gleefully, and he rubbed his palms together till the dry skin emitted a low, rasping sound.

Suddenly Nelson sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands.

“What do you say?” repeated the old man; “surely you won't re--”