She knew that Leola was listening, though she did not answer a word.
“To tell the truth, I may have been a little to blame, Leola, for, in anger at Chester’s duplicity, I ran to Uncle Hermann with my story, and he was angry—fearfully angry—at the wrong done to me and to you. At first he swore he would horse-whip him, but mamma begged him not to create a public sensation, for she said it was best to let it blow over. Uncle Hermann did not say yea or nay, and we thought he was pacified.”
She drew a long breath, and continued:
“Well, you remember how everything happened that night—the wedding, your father’s return to take you away, and everything? When the Bennetts were gone, also you and your father, Uncle Hermann was desperate. We sat up late talking over matters, holding, as it were, a council of war; for, though your father had mercifully permitted him a life-time use of Wheatlands, he was so involved in debt that he could not see a dollar in sight anywhere.”
Leola made no comment, and the speaker went on:
“Uncle Hermann wanted to borrow of mamma, saying he was prosecuting an experiment that must, if it succeeded, make him fabulously rich, and revolutionize the whole world. But chemical ingredients were costly, and he could not go on a week longer without money. He had borrowed, begged, got all he could, and was desperate for more funds. He said he could almost steal, if he knew where to lay his hands on the money, for the sake of his great experiment. He even went on his knees to mamma, but alas! it was ‘like going to the goat’s house for wool.’ Mamma had pawned her diamonds long before to keep afloat in society, and was desperate for means herself. So she could not help him at all, and she said she would go home next day so as not to bother him any longer in his trouble. We retired, and at breakfast next morning he said he and Joslyn would be busy in the laboratory until afternoon; that he had a few chemicals to work on yet; and that, before we left, we might have to congratulate him on the success of his experiment.”
Leola began to look more interested. She could not help being sorry for Wizard Hermann and the failure of his pet hobbies—the ambitions of a toilsome lifetime.
Jessie Stirling continued:
“Mamma and I went upstairs and packed our trunks, and telephoned to town for a man to take them down to the station. When they were gone we walked out to the arbor, waiting for luncheon, and to bid good-bye to my uncle, when—oh, Leola, with a shock!—suddenly there was the sound of a terrific explosion from the tower, and we fell back almost stunned in our seats. It almost seemed as if the world were coming to an end, for one loud report followed another, and the tower was blown away, with all of the chimneys. Then suddenly all grew still, and fire shot out of the windows and doors, caused by an explosion of gasoline Uncle Hermann had been using in his experiments.”
“Oh, how terrible!” cried Leola, finding voice at last.