WORE A ROSE ON HIS COAT.
Henry was absent nearly a week, and upon returning he did not refer to the business that had so peremptorily called him away. Mrs. Witherspoon still had a fear that it might be a love affair, and Ellen had a fear that it might not be. To keep the young woman's interest alive a mystery was necessary, and to free the mother's love from anxiety unrestrained frankness was essential. And so there was not enough of mystery to thrill the girl nor enough of frankness to satisfy the mother. In this way a week was passed.
"I don't see why you make so much of it," Witherspoon said to his wife. "Is there anything so strange in a young man's leaving town? Do you expect him to remain forever within calling distance? He told you that you should know in due time. What more can you ask? You are foolishly worried over him, and what is there to worry about?"
"I suppose I am," she answered, "but I'm so much afraid that he'll marry some girl that I shall not like."
"It's not only that, Caroline. You are simply afraid that he will marry some girl. The fear of not liking her is a secondary anxiety."
"But, father, you know"—
"Oh, yes, I know. But he is a man—presumably," he added to himself—"and your love cannot make him a child. It is true that we were robbed of the pleasure his infancy would have afforded us, but it's not true that there now exists any way by which that lost pleasure can be supplied. As for myself, I regret the necessity that compels me to say that he is far from being a comfort to me. What has he brought me? Nothing but an additional cause for worry."
"Father, don't say that!"
"But I am compelled to say it. I have pointed out a career to him and he simply bats his eyes at it. He is the most peculiar creature I ever saw. Oh, I know he has gone through enough to make him peculiar; I know all about that, but I don't see the sense of keeping up that peculiarity. He is aimless, and he doesn't want an aim urged upon him."
"But, father, he has made his newspaper a success."
"Ah, but what does it amount to? Within ten years he might make a hundred thousand dollars out of it, but"—
"Oh, surely more than that," she insisted.
"Well, suppose he does make more than that; say that he may make two hundred thousand. And even then what does it amount to in comparison with what I offer?"
"But you know he wants to be independent."
"Independent!" he repeated. "I'll swear I don't understand that sort of independence."
"Well," she said, with a consoling sigh, "it will come out all right after a while."
They were sitting in Mrs. Witherspoon's room. The footman announced that Mr. Brooks was waiting in the library. Witherspoon frowned.
"You needn't see him, dear," said his wife.
"Yes, I will. But I am tired and don't care to discuss business affairs. Of late he brings nothing but bad news."
The manager was exquisitely dressed and wore a rose on the lapel of his coat. "I am on my way to an entertainment at the Yacht Club," said he, when the merchant entered the library, "and I thought I'd drop in for a few moments."
"I'm glad you did," Witherspoon replied. "Sit down."
"I haven't long to stay," said Brooks, seating himself. "I am on one of the committees and must be getting over. Is your son going?"
"I don't know. He hasn't come home yet."
"He was invited," said Brooks.
"That doesn't make any difference," Witherspoon replied. "He appears to pay but little attention to invitations, or to anything else, for that matter. Spends the most of his time at the Press Club, I think."
"That's singular."
"Very," said Witherspoon.
"I was there the evening they gave a reception to Patti, some time ago," Brooke remarked, "but I didn't see anything so very attractive about the place."
"I suppose not," Witherspoon replied, and then he added: "That's Henry now, I think."
Henry came in and was apparently surprised to see Brooks. "I have been detained on account of business," he remarked as he sat down. Brooks smiled. Evidently he knew what was passing in Witherspoon's mind.
"My affairs may be light to some people," Henry said, "but they are heavy enough to me."
By looking serious Brooks sought to mollify the effect of his smile. He had not taken the time to think that in his sly currying of Witherspoon's favor he might be discovered, but now that he was caught he fell back upon the recourse of a bungling compliment. "Oh, I'm sure," said he, "that your business is most important. Your paper shows the care and ability with which you preside over it. I think it's the best paper in town, and advertisers tell me that they get excellent returns from it." Here he caught Witherspoon's eye and hastened to add: "Still, I believe that your place is with us in the store. You could soon make yourself master of every detail."
"But we will not talk about that now," Witherspoon spoke up.
"Of course not; but I merely mentioned it to show my belief in your son's abilities."
The footman appeared at the door. "Two gentlemen wish to see Mr. Brooks."
"Who are they?" Witherspoon asked.
"Wouldn't give me their names, sir."
"Some of the boys from the club," said Brooks. "Well, I must bid you good evening."
"There was something I wanted to say to you," the merchant remarked, walking down the hall with him.
Henry did not get up, but he listened eagerly. Presently he heard Witherspoon exclaim: "Great God!" And a moment later the merchant came rushing back.
"Where is my hat?" he cried. "Henry, Brooks is arrested on a charge of murdering Colton! Where is my hat?"
Henry got up, placed his hand on Witherspoon's shoulder, and said: "Sit down here, father."
"Sit down the devil!" he raved. "I tell you that Brooks has been arrested. I am going down-town."
"Not to-night. Sit down here."
"What do you mean, sir!"
"I mean that you must not go down-town. You can do no good by going, Brooks is guilty. There is no doubt about it."
The old man dropped in his chair. Mrs. Witherspoon came running into the room. "What on earth is the matter?" she cried. Witherspoon struggled to his feet. Henry caught him by the arm. "Mother, don't be alarmed. Brooks has simply been arrested."
"For the murder of Colton!" Witherspoon hoarsely whispered. His voice had failed him.
"Sit down, mother, and we will talk quietly about it. There is no cause for excitement when you make up your minds that the fellow is guilty, which you must do, for Mrs. Colton has made a statement—she saw Brooks kill the old man."
Witherspoon dropped in his chair. His hands hung listlessly beside him. Mrs. Witherspoon ran to him.
"Father!"
He lifted his hand, a heavy weight it seemed, and motioned her away. "The Colossus is ruined!" he hoarsely whispered. "Ruined. They'll try to mix me up in it. Ruined!"
"You can't be mixed up in it, and the Colossus will not be ruined," Henry replied.
"Yes, ruined. You haven't brought me anything but bad luck."
"I have brought you the best luck of your life. I have helped you to get rid of a vampire."
"You have?" He turned his lusterless eyes upon Henry.
"Yes, I have, and if you will be patient for a few moments I will make it plain to you. But wait, you must not think of going down-town to-night. Will you listen to me?"
"Yes."
"I was not the only one who suspected that Brooks had something to do with the murder. Many people, in fact—it seemed that almost everybody placed him under suspicion. But there was no evidence against him; there was nothing but a strong supposition. You remember one evening not long ago when Ellen said that he objected to the preacher's coming to pray for Mrs. Colton. This was enough to stamp him a brute. Give that sort of a man the nerve and he won't stop short of any cruelty or any crime."
"Are you going to tell me something or do you simply intend to preach?" Witherspoon asked. His voice had returned.
"Father, he's telling you as fast as he can."
"And I must tell it my own way," Henry said. "That same evening I learned the name of the doctor—the great specialist employed by Brooks to treat the old lady. But I inquired about him and found that he was simply a cheap quack. This was additional cause for suspicion. I called on a detective and told him that I suspected Brooks. At this he smiled. Then I said that if he would agree to give half the reward to any charity that I might name, in the event of success, I would submit my plan, and then he became serious. I convinced him that I had not only a plausible but a direct clue, and he agreed to my proposal. I then told him about the doctor; I expressed my belief that the old woman must know something and urged that this might be brought out if we could get her away and place her under the proper treatment. Well, we learned that she had a sister living in New Jersey. The detective went to see her, and you know the result—the old lady's removal. Recently we received word that she was so much improved that she could mumble in a way to be understood, and last week the detective and I went to see her. This was my apparently inconsistent business out of town."
"But tell us what she said," Witherspoon demanded.
"Her deposition is in the hands of the law." He said this with a sly pleasure—Witherspoon had so often spoken of the law as if it were his agent. "I can simply tell you," Henry continued, "that she saw Brooks when he shot the old man."
"But how can that be? Brooks and his wife ran into the room at the same time. They were together."
"Yes, they ran into the room together, and Brooks had presumably just jumped out of bed. But be that as it may, Mrs. Colton saw him when he shot the old man. And if he is guilty, why should you defend him?"
Witherspoon got up. "You are not going down-town, father," his wife pleaded. "George, you must not go!"
"I'm not going, Caroline." He began to walk up and down the room, but not with his wonted firmness of step. They said nothing to him; they let him walk in his troubled silence. Turning suddenly he would sometimes confront Henry and seem about to denounce him; and then he was strong. But the next moment, and as if weakened by an instantaneous failure of vital forces, he would helplessly turn to his wife as though she could give him strength.
"Don't let it worry you so, father," she begged of him; "don't let it worry you so. It will come out all right. Nobody can fasten any blame on you."
"Yes, they will—yes, they will, the wretches. They hate me; they bleed me every chance they get, and now they want to humble me—ruin me. Nobody can ever know what I have gone through. Defend him!" he exclaimed. "I hope they will hang him. I suspected him, and yet I was afraid to, for in some way it seemed to involve me—I don't know how. But I knew that the wretches would fix it up and ruin the Colossus. For weeks and weeks it has been gnawing me like a rat. But what could I do? I was afraid to discharge him. He's got a running tongue. But what have I done?" he violently asked himself. "He took Colton's place—held Colton's interest. I could do nothing. Sometimes I felt that he was surely innocent. But I fancied that I could hear mutterings whenever I passed people in the street, and the rat would begin its gnawing again. He will drag us all down." His voice failed him, and he sank in his chair. "Ruined! The Colossus is ruined!" he hoarsely whispered.
"If you would stop to think," said Henry, "you would know that your trouble is mostly physical. Your nerves are unstrung. The public is not so willing to believe any story that Brooks may tell. The Colossus will not be injured. But I know that you place very little faith in what I say." The merchant looked at him. "But mark my words: Your standing will not be lowered—the Colossus will not show any ill effect. It is too big a concern to be thus ruined. People trade there for bargains, and not out of sentiment. In a short time Brooks will be forgotten. It is perfectly clear to me."
"Is it?" he asked, with eagerness. "Is it clear to you?"
"Yes, perfectly."
"Then make it clear to me. You can't do it, don't you see? You can't do it."
"Yes, he can, father; yes, he can," Mrs. Witherspoon pleaded. "It is perfectly clear to me. You will look at it differently to-morrow. Come, now, and lie down. Sleep will make it clear. Come on, now."
She took hold of his arm. With a helpless trust he looked up at her. "Come on, now." He lifted his heavy hands, got up with difficulty and suffered her to lead him away.