“It was brother Joe,” said Bradley. He was trembling from head to foot and was deathly pale. “Well, go on,” he said, making a mighty effort to appear calm; “what about mother?”
“I don’t know anything more,” said Bob. “I left that same day. I heerd some talk about her bein’ left destitute, an’ ef I ain’t mistaken, some said her other son had gone off West an’ died out thar, as nobody had heerd from him. That’s what made me—” But Bradley interrupted him. He rose, with a dazed look on his face, and went to his desk, a few feet away. He sat on the high stool and leaned his shaggy head on a pile of account-books. An inkstand rolled down to the floor, and a penholder rattled after it, but he did not pick them up. Then everything was still. Thornton reached over and took Webb’s cigar to light his own, instead of striking the match he had taken from his pocket. The two men exchanged significant glances, and then looked curiously, almost breathlessly, at the mute figure bowed over the desk. Bradley raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and a tangled wisp of his long hair lay across his haggard face.
“How long ago was it, Bob?” he asked, in a deep, husky voice.
“Two year last May.”
“My Lord! she may be dead an’ gone by this time, an’ I kin never make up fer my neglect!” He left the desk and came back slowly. “Kin you git that money to-night?” he asked, looking down at Webb.
“Yes; by walkin’ up home.” Webb tried to subdue the eager light in his eyes, which threatened to betray his intense satisfaction at the sudden change of affairs.
“Well, go git it. I ’ll pack my satchel while yo’ ‘re gone. I’m goin’ to leave you fellers fer good, I reckon. I want to git back home. I wish you luck with the business, Webb. It’s a good investment; we mought never have traded ef this hadn’t ‘a’ come up.”
Jim Bradley was worn out with the fatigue of his long journey when he alighted from the train in the little town that he had once known so well. The place had changed so much that he hardly knew which way to turn. He went into a store. The merchant was at his desk behind a railing in the rear, and a boy sat in the middle of the floor filling a patent egg-case with fresh eggs. “Come in,” he said, without looking up, and went on with his work. Jim put his oilcloth valise on the floor and sat down in a chair.
“Some ‘n’ I kin do fer you to-day?” asked the boy, rising, and putting the lid on the egg-case.