Donald took up his hat, and his face showed the disappointment he felt. “Mr. Brennan,” he said, “I’m sorry I can’t think as you do. I was brought up to know the difference between right and wrong, and I haven’t forgotten it. It would be impossible—absolutely impossible—for me to share in any way in this money, or to let my boy do so. On that point I am determined.”
Brennan looked grave, and regarded Donald with cynical compassion. “I’m sorry to hear it, Mr. Rogers. In that case I do not see that I can be of any service to you.”
“Then you won’t undertake to see Mrs. Rogers, and convince her of her mistake?”
“I do not think it will have any result. You are very young yet, Mr. Rogers. You look at this thing entirely too seriously.”
Donald turned away with a great sense of bitterness, of injustice, in his heart. “My God!” he cried. “How can you say such a thing? There is only one way to look at it, and that is the right way. In your heart, you know it. Don’t you suppose it would be the easiest way, for me to take this money? Isn’t there every reason why I should? My wife—my child—my business interests, all urge me to accept it—to make of myself that most contemptible thing in the world—a man who is willing to live on a woman—to share with her what she has got from her lover. You know what they call such creatures. You know that no decent, self-respecting man could do what you have advised me to do. I value my wife—my home, more than most men do—I have given them the best I had in me—but one thing I value even more than them, and that is my self-respect. I have not made a great success in life, in a material way, but what I have made, I have made honestly. I have always been able to look the world squarely in the face, without feeling ashamed, and I propose to keep on doing so. Advise my wife as you please. Her mother and sister are with you. But I want you to understand—the whole lot of you—that she need not expect me to forgive her, and take her back, so long as she keeps a dollar of this man’s money, for I won’t do it—by God, I won’t do it!” He flung angrily toward the door.
Mr. Brennan stared at him for a moment, then reached out his hand. “Mr. Rogers,” he said, “your views may not be practical, and they may not bring you happiness, but, by God, sir, I respect you for them. Good-day.”
Donald went back to his office like a man who has met a crushing blow, but met it undaunted. He found Bobbie, tired of his pencil and paper, looking out of the window at the boats on the river, and wailing for his mother.
The father disposed of his mail while the boy played about his desk, gave his assistant a few instructions, and, with Bobbie holding his hand, once more started up-town. On the way, he bought the child some little chocolate cigars, thereby lulling him into temporary forgetfulness of his mother’s absence. Life seemed all of a sudden to have become very gray and bitter.
One ray of light, however, pierced the overshadowing gloom. Forbes, his partner in the glass-plant venture, had wired Donald from Parkersburg that he had succeeded in securing from some bankers there the necessary money to tide over the crisis in the company’s affairs. Several large orders had come in also. It appeared certain that they would be able to weather the storm. The good news seemed trifling, somehow, in his present state of mind, but it was something, and for the moment he felt grateful.