The Prodigal Father

by J. Storer Clouston

For the third time the soldier cut in—

"And I may tell you candidly that of all contemptible hounds I've ever had the misfortune to meet, you're the most despicable."

That concluded the conference; and judging from Jean's pointed neglect of any opportunities for consultation with which Andrew provided her, he gathered that Frank had sufficiently expressed her opinion also. It was, no doubt, painful to see oneself thus misjudged, but at the same time he could not feel too thankful for their abstinence from any further inquiry regarding their father's fate. At first this lack of curiosity struck him as almost suspicious, but he was reassured by his conviction of their depravity. While their father was favoring them, they made a fuss about him: now that he could favor them no more, their feigned affection for him disappeared, and all they thought of was reviling the one member of the family who knew what was best for them. Each time he recalled those monstrous epithets of Frank's, this conviction deepened, till he became positively ashamed of them for their indifference. They might at least have gone through the form of asking for some news of their father now and then, even if they had not the hearts to sympathize with his malady. But they had no sense of decency, those two.

Fortunately, he was soon relieved of Frank's society. Some weeks before his furlough was up he returned to India, and the house was well rid of him. A meandering and indignant letter from Archibald Berstoun of that ilk, informing Mr. Andrew Walkingshaw (in the third person) that he would be obliged if he would kindly keep his brother from trespassing in his garden, indicated that the despairing lover had paid a farewell, and surreptitious, visit to his mistress; but that was the last inconvenience he inflicted.

To add to Andrew's relief, Jean came to him a few days after Frank's departure and announced her intention of repairing to London and adopting the profession of nursing. In retailing this incident to his friends, her brother laid particular emphasis on the generosity he had displayed and the scanty thanks she had tendered him. The financial assistance he offered her was ample—perfectly ample for all that a girl wanted; while in the matter of good advice he had been positively extravagant.

"You'll think well over this, Jean," said he.

"I have thought," she answered briefly.

"It's an arduous profession you're embarking on, and a responsible profession, and an honorable profession. It requires—"

"Oh, I know what it requires," she interrupted. "It will be much better if you simply tell your friends what you intended to tell me. They may be impressed: I am not."