XXX
A JOURNALIST'S INJUNCTIONS
"I don't believe we'll ever find him, Harvey. We have so little clue—and almost all we can do is wait." Jessie sighed; her life had had so much of waiting.
"That's the hard part of it," her brother answered, "but what else can we do; it does seem hard to think one's own father is living somewhere, and yet we may live and die without ever seeing him. I've tried all the poor little ways I can—but they're so ineffectual. Yet I don't think there's ever a day my mind doesn't go out to him. Mother said, though—she said he'd come back some day."
"What did she mean?" Jessie asked eagerly.
"I don't know," said Harvey. "That is, I don't know just what was in her mind. And she told me about his—his weakness," the brother's face flushing with the words. "And if I ever succeed enough—if I ever get rich enough, I mean—I'll begin a search everywhere for him; she said no father ever loved his children more," and Harvey's eyes were very wistful as they looked into his sister's.
Jessie was silent a while. "You're—you're going to succeed, aren't you, brother?" she said, timidly. "If father ever does come back—he'll—he'll find we've—conquered, won't he, Harvey?"
Harvey's answer was very slow in coming. Finally he reached out and took his sister's hand; the words rang hopefully.
"I feel somehow, I don't know why, Jessie, but I feel somehow as if I were just at the turning of the tide. Nobody'll ever know what a fearful fight it's been—but I don't think I'll have to struggle like this much longer. It's like fighting in the waves for your life—but I think it's nearly over. I don't want you to go home again for a little, Jessie."
"What do you mean, Harvey? Do you mean anything particular's going to happen?"