CHAPTER X WHICH TELLS OF HOW HERBERT CAME TO LEAVE THE TOWN OF CLEVERLY

As soon as he arrived at the office of the Banner on the following morning, Herbert showed Noah Brooks the letter he had received from New York, and said he had not yet decided whether to accept or decline the proffer of the position on the New York Argus.

“It is not a matter of salary, Mr. Brooks,” he said, “but the question of my future. The prospect of an opening in the metropolis is alluring, yet I dislike the idea of leaving Cleverly.”

“Take your time and do the right thing, Herbert,” said the veteran editor. “As you are aware, your time with me expired some months ago, and your further continuance depends entirely upon yourself. I am frank enough to say that there is not much chance of advancement here.”

A few minutes later the young man left the office for the purpose of transacting some business with the postmaster of the town. That official had stepped out for the moment, but his clerk courteously invited Herbert to take a seat in his private office and await his return. For a few minutes the young man whiled away the time by idly turning over the pages of some newspapers that he found upon the postmaster’s desk. Presently his attention was attracted by the sound of footsteps in the outside corridor. It was nearly mail time, and people were assembling for the purpose of receiving their letters and papers. The board partition between the private office and the outside room was very thin, and Herbert could hear bits of conversation. He paid no attention to them at first, but after a while the mention of his father’s name caused him to prick up his ears in wonder. He recognized the voices of the two speakers; one was a well-to-do farmer named Bingham who operated an extensive place just outside of Cleverly; the other, John Peterson, a wholesale grocer, ranked among the leading citizens of the town. They were in a secluded corner of the post office, and after a while their conversation became quite animated. Bingham was doing most of the talking. He said very earnestly:

“I always liked Dave Harkins, and it has been a standing regret with me that the mystery of his last days was never cleared up.”

“I have heard a great deal about that,” responded Peterson, “but I have never been able to get head or tail of the affair. There was a mystery sure enough, and Harkins died under a cloud; but it was never explained to me by anyone who was in a position to talk about the matter.”

“Well,” replied the other slowly, “I can’t say that I am an authority on the subject; yet I know some of the facts. It seems that old man Black took an unaccountable dislike to Dave Harkins and went to him and insisted upon the immediate repayment of a loan that he had made some time previous. Harkins was not supposed to have an extra dollar in the world. Yet he paid the loan in full the following day. That night--or rather the night before--Black’s place was broken into and a bundle of money stolen. Now the curious part of the story is the allegation that the money which Harkins used to pay off his debt to Black, was the identical cash that was taken from Black’s desk the night before. That is the shape the rumors took. For my part I don’t believe it; and yet, unfortunately, Dave Harkins died before he could set himself straight with the community. His wife and son have never attempted to clear the matter up. Probably they are unable to do so. You don’t suppose that Dave Harkins could have been tempted to take the money, do you?”

“Lord forbid,” rejoined the other, “I believe that he was a thoroughly honest man; but the thing is to get other people to believe the same thing. A bit of scandal is a terrible thing; it may start out in the beginning no bigger than the tip end of a pin; but by the time it gets through growing it is taller than one of those skyscraping office buildings in New York. To tell you the truth I dislike to talk about such things. You are the first man I ever discussed the Harkins case with. Whenever the subject is brought up--and it has been mentioned to me once or twice--I always pooh-hooh it.”

“What reminds you of it to-day?” inquired his companion.

“Young Harkins,” was the prompt rejoinder. “I stopped in at the Banner office to congratulate old man Brooks on the way that young man was running the paper for him, and he astonished me by the news that young Harkins was likely to leave him. He’s got an offer to go to New York and he’s considering it just now. Do you think it is possible, Bingham, that this story concerning his father affects his standing in the community?”

“Undoubtedly,” was the quick response. “A thing of that kind will never die a natural death in a little town like this. It has either got to be cleared up and ripped out of existence, root and branch, or it will go on thriving until Gabriel’s trumpet summons the people to another world.”

“Well,” said the other speaker, “I am glad to know you believed in Dave Harkins, because I rather liked the man myself.”

“I believed in him as I believe in my life.”

“What do you think of the son?” asked Bingham, after a short pause.

“Why,” said Peterson in his nasal voice; “I kind o’ think he’s a chip off the old block. I think if he gets a chance he will make good.”

“So do I,” assented Bingham in a hearty voice.

Herbert, seated behind the partition, could stand the strain no longer. He jumped from his chair and opening the door suddenly, presented himself to the two men. Their astonishment made them speechless. Herbert going over to them, put out his two hands and grasping their hardened palms, he said:

“I have been an unintentional listener to your conversation. I have heard all that you have said about my father and myself, and I want to tell you that I am grateful for the belief you have expressed in his honesty and mine.”

“Don’t mention it,” mumbled Peterson. “I never dreamt you were near by, or I’d been more cautious in my conversation.”

“I am glad I heard it,” replied Herbert, with glistening eyes. “It has uncovered the truth for me. I have had an offer from New York. I hesitated about leaving Cleverly. I like the Banner, and I like the place; but I find now that my duty is elsewhere. The man who gave that money to my father left here and went straight to New York. He has been swallowed up amid millions of other men; but I’ll find him somewhere and in some way if it takes the rest of my life. I thank you, gentlemen, for the things you have said. Before I heard them I was in doubt; now everything is clear to me. My decision is made; I am off to New York.”

With flushed face and eager step the young man hurried from the post office and walked rapidly down the main street. Mr. Brooks was preparing to go to his lunch when Herbert hurried into the Banner office.

“I’ll see you in about an hour, Herbert,” he said smilingly.

“If you will wait a moment I would like to speak to you now,” replied Herbert quickly.

“What is it?” asked the other, with an anxious look in his face. “If it’s about New York I’d like to tell you that you can take your own time in coming to a decision. Take a week if you need it.”

“I don’t need a minute,” replied Herbert impetuously, “I am grateful to you for your kindness; but my decision is already made. I am going to New York, and I am going at the earliest possible moment.”

Mr. Brooks expressed the regret that he felt and then left the young man. Herbert’s next task was to inform his mother of his decision. He knew that the change would be a violent one for her, but felt in his heart that he was only doing his duty to her as well as to the memory of his dead father. He walked slowly to his home, and when he entered, found his mother seated in an armchair by the window engaged in some knitting. He walked into the room on tiptoe, and going back of her, threw his arms about her neck.

“Mother,” he said softly.

“Well, Herbert,” she replied, in a gentle voice. “What is it?”

“I am going to tell you something that may not be pleasant for you to hear, and I want you to promise me that you will bear with it for my sake.”

“What is it?” she asked, with a look of pain on her face.

“Will you promise?” he persisted.

“Yes,” she said, very slowly, but with emphasis. “I’ll promise to be reconciled to anything that is for your good.”

“Well,” he said after a short pause, “I have come to a decision. I am going to New York, and I am going within forty-eight hours.”

The tears came to her eyes, but she bravely repressed them, and arising, took Herbert in her arms and gave him a motherly kiss.

“Bless you, my son,” she said, “and go ahead and do what you believe is for the best.”

From that time until the moment of his departure Herbert was kept busy in completing his arrangements for moving to the metropolis. His chief business was in completing his work for the current issue of the Banner. When the other persons who were connected with the paper heard of his prospective departure they were very much disappointed because Herbert was a general favorite in the office. The young man himself was so agitated at the thought of leaving those with whom he had been in contact so long and so pleasantly that he could scarcely get through with his routine work.

The morning for his departure dawned at last, and he started for the train with a gripsack in one hand and an umbrella in the other. His mother accompanied him, and on the way gave him a great deal of homely advice regarding his future life in the big city. It was understood that he should go on with his work and if it should prove successful that later on he would send for his mother and thereafter both of them would make their home in New York. In the meantime he promised to send her part of his earnings every week, and in spite of her protests, made the amount the major part of his salary. On the way to the train they passed the home of John Black. Mary Black was just coming out of the doorway, and when she saw the mother and son, joined them on the way to the station.

“I wish you God-speed, Herbert,” she said, with undoubted sincerity; “and if you see anything of Arthur it will be a real charity for you to inform us of the fact. Mother and father are very much distressed over his absence.”

“Haven’t you heard anything from him since he left?” asked Herbert.

“Yes,” she replied, holding her head down. “He has written to me twice, each time to ask me for money.”

“And you gave it to him?” inquired Herbert.

“Yes,” she replied. “Perhaps it was wrong; but I could not refuse it. He did not give any address, but had the mail sent to the General Delivery window of the main post office building.”

“Well, Mary,” said Herbert, “I assure you that if I am ever in a position to assist you either in Arthur’s case, or in any other manner, I will be only too glad to do so.”

They had reached the station by this time, and in a moment or two were joined by Noah Brooks, who insisted on coming along to say good-by to his much valued assistant and associate editor.

Brooks was silent for some time, but his face showed the feeling that he was endeavoring to repress. Going over to Herbert, he put his arm around his shoulder in an affectionate manner, and said:

“My boy, I have to thank you for the fidelity you have always shown to my interests. I don’t know what in the world I’ll do without you; indeed I don’t.”

Just then the train pulled in at the station and Herbert, after a last good-by, jumped aboard. The engine pulled out quickly, and the young man standing on the rear platform, shook his handkerchief in farewell to his mother and friends. As the train gradually put distance between itself and Cleverly, Herbert was filled with a strange emotion which he could not understand. He was leaving the home of his birth and his youth, and his heart was strangely touched at the thought. The train puffed on, and soon the little group on the station became mere specks in the distance; but the last thing that Herbert saw was the trim figure and the two bright eyes, half dimmed with tears, belonging to Mary Black.