V. V.'s Eyes

by Henry Sydnor Harrison

Rising to his height, he shot at O'Neill: "And once more you'll see I'm absolutely right! I don't change, my dear fellow, the simple reason being that I've got a guiding principle that doesn't change. I must answer that 'phone."

"Well, I'll trot along with you. I've got to get on up the hill...."

They headed together for the door. By reason of the prohibitory expense, Dr. Vivian had no telephone of his own, but through the courtesy of Meeghan's Grocery just across the street (which establishment was in receipt of medical attendance gratis), the initiate could always "get a message" to him. Commissioner O'Neill, at once puzzled and somewhat impressed by his friend's air of confidence, resumed conciliatively:

"Now, jokin' aside, V.V., what's the proposition? D'you honestly think Heth can be made to clean up by your persuading his wife or daughter to ask him to? Is that it?--You met 'em at your uncle's reception, I s'pose?"

But V.V.'s reserve had fallen, like a mysterious wall between. "You say you're at the end of your rope," said he, stepping with his long stride into the hall. "Well, suppose you give me a few months, that's all."

The two friends descended the long stairs in silence. Vivian's meditations were rather tense. He recalled the hard words of the Severe Arraignment; he remembered the unforgivable speech he had made in the summer-house; before his mind's eye rose the moment in his uncle's lamplit den when he had told the girl to her face that her father was a homicide. Sacrificing natural inclinations to kindliness, he had done and said these things. And Sam O'Neill, knowing practically nothing of the facts in the case, had the nerve to stand up ...

O'Neill, descending, reflected that old V.V. was undoubtedly a queer one. Chuck full of hazy optimism, he was of late. Hazy optimism: O'Neill repeated the phrase, liking it. Still it was possible he might manage to work on the girl's feelings--O'Neill was sure it was the girl--whatever that was worth. He was a kind of appealing fellow, and did have connections with the swells, though it was really he, O'Neill, and Mrs. O., who ought ...

"Well, be good," said he, as they emerged from the decayed grand entrance. "I'm breakin' in a new stenographer--troubles of my own. See you again in a day or two."

"All right. And by the way," said the tall doctor, speaking with polite restraint, "please don't get it into your head that I'm letting up on these people, or anything of that sort. As a matter of fact, my tendency is all the other way. Not to judge them too harshly--not to do the--the most serious injustice--that's what I've got to guard against...."

He turned away, bareheaded in the mild January sunshine, and crossed to Meeghan's, where his telephone call proved to be from Rev. Mr. Dayne, desiring a personal conference later in the day. Cumbered with many cares though he was, the kind-faced Secretary of Charities had been captured at sight by Vivian's plan of buying the old Dabney House, and bringing it to life again as a great Settlement. The problem now engrossing both was how to raise the necessary money, twenty-five thousand dollars being a large sum, particularly with the benevolent field just swept clean by the Associated Charities canvass. However, the tireless Secretary seldom despaired, V. Vivian never. The young man promised eagerly to call on Mr. Dayne, whom, in common with most of the rest of the world, he admired immensely.