Part 26 (2/2)
”But my mother--?” faltered d.i.c.k again, leaning forward heavily on the table, and gazing at the colonel with eyes so full of horror that the elder man wondered whether suffering had not turned d.i.c.k's brain.
”Ah, you may well ask about your mother. She tried to do her best, I believe, to get your grandfather to pay up; but the shame of the thing is what I look at. That's why I came to you here, to-day. If your mother knows no more than Dora and all the rest--if they still think you're dead--well, why not remain dead? It's only charity--it's only kind. Your father and mother think that you died a hero's death, and, naturally, aren't disposed to look upon your crime quite in the same light as other people. Why, in heaven's name, when you got a chance of slipping out of life, and out of the old set, and making a fresh start, didn't you seize it?”
”You mean, why didn't I get shot?” asked d.i.c.k, slowly.
”Well, not exactly that. You know as well as I do that lots of chaps go to the front to get officially shot, and have their names on the list of the killed--men who really mean to turn over a new leaf, and get a fresh lease of life in another country, under another name, when the war is over. Others get put right out of the way, because they haven't the courage to do it themselves.”
”But my mother could have explained!” cried d.i.c.k, huskily. He was so weak that he was unable to cope with agitation.
”Tut, tut, man, your mother could explain nothing. She could only tell the truth--that she gave you two checks for small amounts, and you put bigger amounts to them, and cashed them at the bank; in short, that her son was a forger.”
”My mother said that!”
”Yes.”
”G.o.d help her!” gasped d.i.c.k, with a gulp. He put his hand to his throat, and fell forward on the table, senseless.
The colonel jumped up in alarm. Waiters rushed forward, and they revived the sick man by further applications of brandy. He recovered quickly, and food was again set before him.
He ate mechanically, and for a long time there was silence between the two men. The colonel wished himself well out of the business, and felt the brutality of using harsh words to a man in such a condition of health. Yet, he was resolute in his purpose.
d.i.c.k appeared somewhat stronger after the meal. Every now and again, he would look up at the colonel in a dazed fas.h.i.+on, as if unable to believe the evidence of his senses. At last, he spoke again.
”I suppose--my brain isn't what it was. But I'm feeling better. Tell me again what my mother said--and my father.”
The colonel detailed all that he knew, displaying considerable irritation in the process. This att.i.tude of ignorance and innocence nettled him. He wound up with a soldier-like abruptness.
”Well, are you going to live, or do you intend to remain dead?”
”I'm going home.”
”To be arrested?”
”No, to ask some questions.”
”Don't be a fool. You'll be arrested at the station.”
”No, I sha'n't. I've done a little dodging lately. I shall travel to some other place, and walk home. I've faced worse things than--”
The sentence was never finished. He seemed to realize that there could be nothing worse than to be falsely denounced by his own mother--the mother whom he loved and idolized, the most wonderful mother son ever had, the most beautiful woman in New York, the wife of John Swinton, chosen man of G.o.d.
”You'd better not come home,” urged the colonel; ”at any rate, as far as we are concerned.”
”Ah, that means you intend to cut me.”
”Yes; and as far as Dora is concerned--Well, the fact is, she's engaged to Ormsby now.”
”Engaged to Ormsby?”
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