“Oh no; I know where he is well enough.” The way seemed easier to the old man now, and he went on rapidly. “He is at Gate City, Oklahoma, Miss Margaret. He has been there all this time, and is doing mighty well; in fact, he has gone and got rich. You know the West is a powerful field for fresh, young blood to forge ahead in, and Fred struck it just right. He is a partner in a whopping big wholesale business there. He has been writing to me—that is, off and on. There was a little cash difference between his account and mine, and he finally made it good out of his earnings. I—I never was much of a hand to talk my business, you know, so I've never let on here at Stafford exactly how he was making out, but a time has come when I want to set him as nigh straight as possible before the community he was born and raised in; in fact, I want him to come home.”
“Yes, of course.” Margaret's cold, pale lips formally dropped the words as her visitor paused and wiped his perspiring brow and fanned himself with his hat..
“Yes, I've just been out there to sort o' settle up a little deal betwixt me and the man—twixt me and Fred's business partner, and I must say the whole outlook was good. You know I reckon that everybody in this town sort o' thought before Fred went off that he never would amount to much in a business way, but he is all right now. So, having nothing much to do at the bank this hot day, why, I thought I'd drive up here and see you about it.”
“See me about it? I really don't understand,” the young lady faltered.
“Well, to come right to the point, Miss Margaret”—Walton avoided her wavering glance for a moment as he kicked the toe of his boot into an unoffending tuft of grass and fairly uprooted it—“out there in Gate City one night me and Fred had a sort o' confidential talk about old times, and one thing or other, and finally he broke down and told me how much attached he had always been to you—never had cared for no other woman, nor never would as long as the sun shone on the earth, and other things to that effect.”
“Oh, Mr. Walton, please don't!” Margaret cried out; but there was a glow of irrepressible delight rising in her face, and her beautiful eyes were sparkling. “I don't think I want to talk about it.”
“I have to,” the banker insisted, firmly. “I want him back here, Miss Margaret; and, as it stands now, I'm afraid he never will come unless you yield a point or two. He said his one and only spur to making a man of himself had been the hope that—seeing that you hadn't yet chosen a partner—that you might some day or other consider his proposal. He says, though, that he met you in New York, awhile back, and that you deliberately turned him down. He said he couldn't blame you, after all that had happened, but he couldn't help thinking that maybe it would be as well for him never to come nigh you again. That was the way, I say, that he looked at it, blue and down-in-the-mouth, as the poor fellow was during our confab; but I threw out a straw to him, so I did, Miss Margaret. I cited numbers and numbers of cases where young men had eventually lived down early mistakes, and finally been reinstated, to become, in the end, an honor to the land of their birth. He didn't think, after the way you acted in New York, that there was any chance for him at all, but, being anxious to make headway, I told him I was sure you was too much of a Christian at heart to refuse a request like his, offered in the spirit it is offered in. He's sorry for many things that's he done, and wants to wipe 'em out.”
Old Walton's eyes shifted almost significantly from her face to the low roof of Mrs. Barry's cottage, and instinctively Margaret's glance followed; then, becoming conscious of the fact, she quickly looked down, and a tinge of color climbed into her pale cheeks.
“I think we'd better not say any more about that, Mr. Walton,” she said, more firmly than she had spoken since his arrival. “I am sure your son understands how I feel.”
“That means a flat no, then,” the banker said, and with a heavy sigh he slowly stood up. “Well, I've plead his case as well as I know how, but I hain't yet touched on mine. Miss Margaret, you could do me a big, lasting favor if you'd let this thing go through. I'm a plain man. Folks hain't never said I was much of a hand to show affection, and they are right, I reckon; but the way matters stand now is getting me down, and if you don't extend a helping hand I'm afraid I'll feel bad the rest of my life. It ain't just Fred that's concerned—it's me—me! As long as a father can make himself believe he is treating his son justly, he can hold his head up and meet the eye of the world; but, if the truth must be told, I reckon I didn't give Fred a good enough show. I driv' him off, with threats of the law, and away off in a strange land, under a new name, he forged ahead. He made friends by the stack, and the old man—his partner that I told you about—loves him like he was his own; in fact, he calls him his 'adopted son.' Think of that! The only child the Lord ever give me is now claimed by a blamed old cuss that understood him better than I ever did! He has willed him all he's got, and he's got plenty, too—a sight more than I'll ever have if I keep on till the end of the chapter. I want to hold my own, Miss Margaret. I hain't never been clean beat yet, and this, somehow, would be the worst fall I ever had. I just can't stomach the idea! I want my boy to love me, and lean on me, and not on a fat, pudgy old idiot that never had a thing to do with his baby days. I want that worse than I ever wanted anything, and I don't see how I'm going to get it if you don't help a little. If your pride won't let you do it for him, maybe it will for an old chap like me, that is begging for one more throw of the dice. I simply want him back, and he won't come unless you will let bygones be bygones.” He paused. Something very much like strong emotion was in his whole dejected attitude as he stood bowed before her. She started to speak, but stopped, clasping her delicate hands undecidedly in front of her. She stood silent for a moment, and then she said, softly: