“I scarcely know what followed,” he resumed. “Of course I had caught him in the act, and I called him a thief. He said I had called him that before, and he was bound not to have the name without the game. Then I sprang upon him in a perfect tempest of fury. As I said, he was large and strong for his years, and he gave me a severe tussle for a few moments, but I succeeded in getting him by the throat and throwing him. As he fell his head struck against a sharp corner of the safe. When he struck the floor, he lay there still and limp, the color going out of his face. There was a shriek behind me, and I turned to see your mother in the door, brought to the spot by the sounds of our struggle. She sprang over and lifted the head of her brother, staining her hands and her dress with his blood, for the corner of the safe had cut a gash in the back of his head. I can never forget the terrible look she gave me. ‘You have murdered Charlie!’ she hoarsely cried, and then she swooned.”
Again the man stopped, deeply affected by the tragic picture painted for him by memory as he told of this fateful encounter which had brought upon him the sorrow of his life. For some moments he turned about in his office chair and stared at the window, as if trying to gaze out into the darkness, lifting to his face one hidden hand, while the other shook as it reached out to rest upon his desk.
Don’s sympathies were stirred most profoundly, for he saw how much pain it was costing his father to relate to him this story of which he had never spoken. Unable to keep still, the boy impulsively cried:
“Don’t tell me any more, father! That is enough.”
Dr. Scott turned back from the window.
“There is not much more to tell,” he said, “so I will complete the story now. I called assistance and sent for medical aid. Your mother was taken to her room, where she lay unconscious so long that I feared she might never recover. When at last she again came to herself, she lay like one dazed until I entered the room, when she shrieked, covered her face and would not look at me. In her condition, it was necessary for me to leave her before she would become quiet. That night, my son, you came into the world.”
“But Charlie,” palpitated Don, “was he—dead?”
“No; but he was seriously injured—how seriously could not be told at the time. He slowly recovered his physical strength, but the blow from the sharp point of the safe had clouded his mind and he was insane—violently so at times. It was necessary that he should be confined, for he was dangerous when violent, so he was placed in a private asylum.
“Oh, my son! you can never know how much I regretted my outbreak of anger that had caused me to attack him and bring this about! That is, you can never know unless some rash act of your own shall bring an equal sorrow upon you. I had everything possible done to make poor Charlie comfortable.”
“But he was to blame—he was to blame for it all!” panted the listening lad.