CHAPTER XXIV WHEREIN THE CLOUDS PASS AWAY AND THE SUN SHINES ON HERBERT

HARKINS

Herbert Harkins voluntarily assumed the care and disposal of the remains of the unfortunate criminal. The young reporter was acquainted with the Coroner’s undertaker and through his assistance and that of some mutual friends he was able to secure a cheap lot in an out of town cemetery. The obsequies of the departed one were pathetic in the extreme. The only two mourners at the funeral--if they could be called mourners--were Herbert Harkins and Francis Tomlin. The whole affair was tinged with an atmosphere that was at once sombre and desolate; but at all events Adler had been given a Christian burial, and that was the thing that Herbert desired most of all.

“You’re a curious fellow, Harkins,” said Tomlin to the young man on their way home from the cemetery.

“How do you make that out?” asked Herbert.

“Why, by your actions,” was the reply; “you are constantly doing unexplainable things. Take to-day for instance. Who else would have done so much for a man who was the cause of all his troubles?”

“Ah!” said Herbert, “but you must understand that my troubles are now buried in the grave with that poor, miserable man. I can afford to be generous.”

“Even if you are not just?”

“Who shall determine that--I for one shall always shrink from being the judge of my fellow men.”

“But you know that this Adler was thoroughly disreputable--”

“Yes,” interrupted Herbert, “and that is all the more reason why I should be reputable. A man must be merciful if he looks for mercy himself.”

They had reached their rooms by this time, and after a few preliminaries, Herbert sat down at his desk and began to clear up an accumulation of work that had been neglected during the past week, largely because his time was taken up in preparing for the funeral arrangements of Harry Adler. This work occupied his attention almost constantly till late in the night. His last act was to write a letter to his mother at Cleverly, reminding her that she would be expected to arrive in New York on Christmas Eve, which important occasion would occur on the following day. He put a special delivery stamp on the letter and carried it around to one of the sub-post office stations in order to insure its prompt delivery on the following morning.

When the day before Christmas arrived it brought with it a fine fall of snow, and quite early in the morning the face of New York was hidden from view with a soft, fleecy covering. At noon time that day Herbert received a telegram from his mother saying that she would be unable to reach New York till about eleven o’clock on Christmas morning. It seemed odd that she should disappoint him in this unaccountable way; but he thrust the telegram in his pocket, and in the rush of his everyday duties quickly forgot the incident.

That evening Tomlin came into the house with a rather solemn face and said to Herbert:

“I have been made the bearer of a message to you. Mr. Blakeley says that he would like to see you at the Argus office at nine o’clock this evening.”

Herbert’s face flushed at this unexpected announcement. It was the first time that he had heard from Blakeley either directly or indirectly, since the dramatic incident which terminated his career on the newspaper. At first the message filled him with a sense of elation; but this was quickly followed by a feeling of resentment. His face hardened, and he said with much dignity:

“If Mr. Blakeley desires to communicate with me, or to call upon me, he knows my address. I--”

“Now see here,” quickly interrupted Tomlin, “I don’t want any of this nonsense from you. I don’t care what you do or what you say to Blakeley; but I don’t propose to have you make me look silly and ridiculous.”

Herbert melted in a minute. The distress and annoyance in his friend’s face changed his whole manner.

“I wouldn’t offend you for a moment, Tomlin,” he said; “you have been such a good friend to me that there isn’t anything in the world that I would not do to serve you. I had felt a bit angry towards Blakeley, but I could not hold anything but the kindest feelings toward you. If you say go, I’ll go in a minute.”

Tomlin’s answer was clear, crisp and to the point. He simply said in his loudest voice:

“Go!”

At nine o’clock that evening Herbert found himself ascending the stairway toward the local room of the Argus. When he entered, a number of the men were busily engaged at their desks; but they all looked up and gave him a cheery greeting. The old familiar scenes coming upon him unexpectedly seemed to rush through his memory like floods of water surging over a falls. Blakeley, as usual, occupied his desk in the corner of the room. He looked quite lifelike to Herbert as he sat there puffing a strong cigar, with his feet cocked up on the edge of his desk, reading a proof that had just been rushed down from the composing room.

The moment he perceived Herbert he moved his feet from the desk, arose from his chair, and extending his hand, said with considerable cordiality:

“Hello, Harkins, I’m glad to see you again.”

Herbert took the proffered hand, but held it somewhat limply. He could not enthuse on such short notice. Presently he was invited to take a seat, and did so. Tomlin, without being asked, also sat down to listen to the conversation.

“I was quite sorry to lose you, Harkins,” said Blakeley after an interval.

Herbert looked in his face for a moment to see whether he was jesting. Such an admission from such a man was very unusual; but Blakeley looked him squarely in the eye, and there was neither mirth nor sarcasm in the glance, so he answered softly:

“I was sorry to go, Mr. Blakeley.”

“But,” exclaimed the city editor, and the quiet eye now flashed fire, “you treated me very meanly. I must say that, and I am going to repeat it, you treated me very meanly.”

“I admit that I did,” said Herbert, his tone softer than before; “but I was the victim of circumstances over which I had no control.”

Blakeley puffed at his cigar for awhile after that, and then as if he was giving voice to a long cherished desire, said:

“Now see here, Harkins, I want to put a plain question to you. Why did you refuse to write that story--now tell me as plainly as you can, and all will be square between us.”

Herbert arose before the city editor had finished making his request. The look of annoyance in his face gave way to indignation, and then he said with considerable heat:

“Is that all you have to say to me, Mr. Blakeley?” and receiving no answer, he went on, “If it is, I will leave you. There is no need of any further conversation between us.”

At this point Blakeley arose with a smile on his face that seemed to stretch almost from ear to ear. His eyes were sparkling with good nature, and going over to Herbert he took his hand and wrung it heartily.

“You are all right, my boy; you are pure gold. I don’t propose to let you get out of here again. I need you in my business.”

Herbert was plainly puzzled at this demonstration, and said so at once.

“I don’t know why you should be so pleased, Mr. Blakeley. I have declined to answer your query.”

“That’s just it,” he said; “it demonstrates what I have always believed, that you wouldn’t betray a confidence. However a kind friend has already done that for you.”

Herbert’s eyes expressed the surprise he felt. Before he could make any reply a door in the rear of Mr. Blakeley’s office opened suddenly, and Arthur Black appeared upon the scene. Herbert gasped for breath. He was too much amazed to speak to the young man. Blakeley spared him that trouble by saying:

“Now, Mr. Black, we are all together; tell me once again the story that you were good enough to relate to me early in the afternoon.”

“The story is soon told,” said Arthur, with a firmness in his voice and a dignity in his manner that Herbert had never noticed before; “I come here to do a tardy act of justice to one of the manliest persons I have ever known. Mr. Blakeley, as I have already told you, I was foolish enough and despicable enough to engage in, or rather to permit myself to be used in a swindling game that was being conducted in this city some time ago. Herbert Harkins ran that story out for the Argus and was prepared to make an arrest of one of those who were engaged in the game; but when he discovered that I was implicated in it he permitted me to escape, and as a result of that act of generosity, lost a good story and forfeited his position on the Argus.

“I left the city immediately after that incident occurred,” continued Arthur, “and went to a little town in Connecticut, where I endeavored to make a new man of myself. I think I have partially succeeded. I am not going to stop till I succeed entirely; but only a week ago I learned of the misfortune which had happened to Herbert Harkins through his effort to shield me and my family from disgrace. I have not been able to rest at night since I learned this news. Finally I could stand it no longer, and I came here to tell you the truth and the simple truth. Herbert did throw the Argus down on its good story, but he did so for my sake and the sake of my father and mother and sister. I am here now not only to admit this, but to throw myself on your mercy. If you think the ends of justice have not already been served, I am willing to submit to arrest and imprisonment. The punishment will be a severe one, but probably not more than I deserve. In any event I hope to restore Herbert Harkins to your esteem, if not to the position he formerly occupied on this paper.”

Herbert listened to this recital in open mouthed wonder. He watched Arthur Black keenly while he was telling his story, and as he proceeded, was filled with admiration for the young man. He could see very clearly now that Arthur was not really a bad boy at heart; that he had been a spoiled child in his youth and had drifted into the company of dissolute young men. What at first was merely waywardness had gradually extended to more serious things; but fortunately his downward career had been checked just on the edge of a precipice.

There was silence in the group for a few moments, and then Blakeley spoke up in his short, snappy tones. He took Arthur by the hand, and said:

“I want to congratulate you, young man. You have shown a manliness that does you credit. Now, there is no paper in town that is more eager to obtain exclusive news than the Argus, and I am willing to admit that there are times when we feel disposed to turn sharp corners in order to beat the other newspapers; but we have the line of decency even in this office, and I propose to draw it on this occasion. You can rest at your ease. So far as I am concerned and so far as the paper is concerned, the firm with which you were connected never existed; the incident at the post office never happened. I can only say that you have my best wishes for your future success in life.”

Everybody was delighted at this evidence of a warm heart on the part of the man who had the reputation of being a cold-blooded hunter for news. But he was not through. He turned to Herbert after a few moments of meditation, and said:

“Harkins, your old place awaits you on the Argus. I want to tell you, as I have already told young Black, that my memory is a blank, that you have never offended me and that you have never thrown the paper down. Your place has never been filled. Your chair over at that desk is still vacant. Come in again on Monday morning and try to distinguish yourself.”

The manner of this man, no less than the words, impressed Herbert deeply, and he mentally vowed that he would do his duty by Blakeley and the Argus to the full extent of his ability.

There was much laughter and much hand shaking as the little party dispersed. Tomlin lingered a little longer than the others, and when they were out of ear-shot, said to Blakeley in quick tones:

“Say, old man, that was a cruel test with which you began this session--that attempt to get Herbert to squeal on Arthur Black.”

“Aye,” responded the other heartily, “it was indeed, but it was the crucial test. It was worth all the pain that it cost. It is proof positive to my mind that Harkins can be trusted absolutely. He would die before he violated a confidence. That’s the kind of men we need on the Argus.”