“That’s what I’ve felt myself of late,” said Phil, “but at that time I thought differently.”
“For shame, Phil! Do you think I would let anyone provide for my boy, no matter where he might be, or what he might be? When you would not have the money I sent, I sent it to them regularly for your upkeep;––and much more besides, for they always had something to tell me of what you needed extra. I doubled the allowance when they sent you to college. Yes!––and it was three years after you had gone West before I knew of it, and then only through the death of Brenchfield’s father and an inquiry I made through a firm of lawyers.
“We planned, not once but a hundred times, to go ourselves to Campbeltown in search of you. But I couldn’t get away from my business affairs in Texas and your mother was too ill to travel alone. Last winter, however, I sold all my interests for cash, your mother made a great recovery, and we came away for a double purpose. First, to find you, if we could; next, to see if we should like to make a home out here, for we had heard much about this part of the country.
“For years Margery has pined her heart out for her old playmate, until she threatened to come herself if I would not come with her. But, Phil, boy!––there was little need for her threat, for your daddy could not have gone to his long rest without making peace with his boy.
“We heard that you had separated from Graham Brenchfield several years ago; that you had gone to the bad; and that nobody knew of your whereabouts.
“Of course, that rascal’s wonderful, would-be success was well-known in his native town. We came on here to get what information we could from him, in the hope of being able to follow you up. And we found––well––he is gone now, so we’ll say no more. But we found 389 you, well and in a position I would expect my boy to make for himself.”
Then Phil told them of his quaint, whimsical and brilliant partner, Jim Langford, but not a word, of course, of what Jim had said to him in regard to Margery.
At last he came to what was nearest to his heart, after all,––his love for Eileen Pederstone––following it hard with a recount of the tide of misfortune that had swept over her father.
“Jim and I have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in solid cash, dad,––and, if you have anything to put in, it would be the finest investment in the world to clear that property of its mortgages and put it in a position to earn its own keep.
“But, say!––aren’t you folks hungry? It is eight-thirty, and I’m just beginning to feel I want dinner.”