Part 13 (2/2)
”I am,” said Mr. Winkle, laughing, and then he showed his ”want”
advertis.e.m.e.nt. ”That is the whole case, Johnnie, my boy, but it is all over now. Don't you worry; it might go to your head again. You saved the girl and I saved you, and it only cost me $50. I'd pay that any time to get ahead of the _Screamer_, and I rather think I salted that enterprising sheet down this time, don't you? But what is to become of that girl?” added he, without waiting for a reply to his first question.
”You've taken the liberty to save her life, which she had decided she did not want under existing circ.u.mstances. Has she simply got to go over the same thing again? I told her that I'd look after her, but I don't see how in thunder I'm going to do it. She won't take money from me and _I've_ got nothing for her to do. Is there nothing ahead of her but a coffin or a police court?”
”For this individual girl, yes. Dr. Ralston has already secured work for her; but for all the thou-sands of her kind--” John Boler's voice trembled a little and he stopped speaking to hide it. He in common with most men was heartily ashamed of his better nature.
”For all the thousands of her kind,” broke in Mr. Winkle, ”there are just exactly three roads open--starvation, suicide, or shame, with the courts, the legislature, and the newspapers on the side of the latter.
I just tell you, Johnnie, it makes my blood boil. I--I don't see any way out of it--none at all. That is the worst of it.”
”I do,” said Mr. Boler.
”_You do!_” exclaimed Mr. Winkle excitedly, and then looked hard at his old friend's son to see if he had gone crazy again.
”Yes, I do. Those same newspapers you are so down on will do it. They're bound to. The boys go wrong sometimes, as they did in this case; but that only makes sensible people indignant, and, after all, it called attention to the law that makes such things possible. _More light on the laws_. That's the first thing we want, and no matter which side of a question the papers take, we are bound to get that in the long run.
Silence is the worst danger. We get pretty mad at the boys if they write what we don't like, but that isn't half so dangerous as if they didn't write at all. See?”
Mr. Winkle turned slowly away and shook his head as he murmured to himself: ”Who would have believed that old John Boler would have been the father of a lunatic? Dear me, dear me. I'm going back to Meadville before I get touched in the head myself.” And he started to his room to pack his valise. John Boler followed him to the elevator.
”I don't blame you for feeling pretty mad about all the stuff they put in the _Screamer_ about you; but--oh, the boys _mean_ all right--”
”So does the devil,” broke in the old man. But Mr. Boler gave no evidence of noticing the interruption nor of observing the irascibility of his guest.
”The trouble is with the system,” he went on, entering the elevator after Mr. Winkle. ”Why, just look at it, man. What I say or do, if it is of a public nature, I'm responsible for _to_ the public. What you write you put your name to; but it's a pretty big temptation to a young fellow who knows he has got the swing in a newspaper and doesn't have to sign his name to what he says, to make an effort to 'scoop' his rivals at whatever cost. The boys don't mean any harm, but irresponsible power is a mighty dangerous weapon to handle. Not many older men can be trusted to use it wisely. Then why should we expect it of those young fellows who don't know yet any of the deeper meanings of life? Great Scott, man!
_I_ think they do pretty well under the circ.u.mstances. I'm afraid I'd do worse.”
Mr. Winkle stroked his chin reflectively.
”No doubt, no doubt,” he said abstractedly, as they stepped out of the elevator.
John Boler looked at him for a brief s.p.a.ce of time to see if he had intended the thrust and then went on:
”That girl's life or death just meant an item to the boys, and it didn't mean much more to you or me until--until we stood and heard her talk and saw her suffer, and were made personally uncomfortable by it. Yet we are old enough to know all about it for her and others. We _do_ know it, and go right along as if we didn't. We are a pretty bad lot, don't you think so?”
Silas Winkle unlocked his door before he spoke. Then he turned to his old friend's son and shook his hand warmly.
”Good-bye,” he said, looking at him steadily. ”Good-bye, Johnnie. I see it only comes on you at odd spells. Come up to Meadville for a while and I think you will get over it altogether. Your father was the clearest-headed man I ever saw and you seem to have lucid intervals.
Those last remarks of yours were worthy of your father, my boy,” and the old man patted him softly on the back.
John Boler whistled all the way downstairs. Then he laughed.
”I wonder if old Winkle really does think I am off my base,” said he, as he took down his hat. ”I suppose we are all more or less crazy. He thinks I am and I know he is. It is a crazy world. Only lunatics could plan or conduct it on its present lines.” And he laughed again and then sighed and pa.s.sed out into the human stream on Broadway.
THE TIME LOCK OF OUR ANCESTORS.
_”Visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation._”--Bible.
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