“It is lovely up there, and you’ll get well right away and have such good times. I’m over here every day, sometimes two or three times a day—I shall be now to see you.”
And so the lonely heart was comforted.
The day was full of work for Dr. Dudley, and Mr. Morrow’s letter stayed unopened in his pocket until his evening rounds had been made. In his first leisure moment, he cut the envelope and skimmed the closely written pages. He read them twice before he laid them down. Then, leaning back in his chair, he pondered the strange situation. Finally he took up the letter and read it through again. It bore neither date nor address nor signature, and began abruptly.
Dear Doctor,—
Here I am!—up for two years, and God only knows what will become of my boy! He is, as you know, an abnormally sensitive child, who will grieve for “daddy” to the breaking of his heart, unless you open your heart and home and take him in. You were good to him once, and he loves you and your Polly. I am sure he would be happy with you. Will you do this kindness for me? No, not for me,—a man who has not the slightest claim upon you and who would not deserve it if he had,—but for the sake of his angel mother, for the sake of the poor little kid himself, perhaps you will not refuse.
Chris does not know where I am, and he must not be told,—he must never know. When my two years are up, we will go somewhere and begin life all over again. I have had enough of this infernal business, and am going to live straight as soon as I get another chance. In the six years I have been at it I have been lucky, many times slipping out of the very teeth of the law, until they called me “Slippery ’Chard.” I thought I was smart enough to elude anybody; but this last job was my undoing. My partner was too fond of talk and whiskey—he gave us away easy, and we’re both out of it for these two years. I ought to have known better than to take him on.
It cut me up to have to lie to your little girl when she recognized me at Midvale—I guess I deserve all that’s coming to me! I’m sorry about that pin Chris gave to Polly. The other fellow went through those rooms, and, of course, took the pansy with the rest. I knew it soon as I spied it, and was going to send it back to her; but they didn’t give me time enough, and now it is gone. Perhaps you will think it is just as well, for it was swiped to start with. Buy her another, something pretty, and I’ll foot the bill. You needn’t be afraid of the money—it is as honest as yours. It was left the boy by his mother, and I have never touched it, so there’s quite a neat little sum now. Charge me whatever you please for the kid’s board. I’m willing to leave it to you, and I will see that you are paid promptly every month. If you’ll only take care of him, and bring him up right, and not let him know that his father is a criminal, I will bless you to my last breath—as if my blessing could be worth anything to such a man as you! Well, the best it is you shall have it, and that is all I can do. If it hadn’t been for Chris and his faith in me I should have gone to hell long ago—I’ve been down to the gates, as it was. It isn’t the fault of my rearing,—my folks were all right, they trained me, they educated me, they loved me. I am the first to sully the name, but I’ve kept the name itself out of the mud as much as possible. Write to Peter Connell, New York, and I shall get the word.
Think what it would mean to you to be shut away from your little girl, never to look on her for two long years, with no decent friend to care for her—and then keep my little Chris! Oh, Doctor, keep him, and don’t let him know about me!
Good-bye.