Part 45 (1/2)

”Richard,” she said softly.

He turned from the machine. His face was strangely colorless, strangely drained of all light. She did not speak, but the loyalty and faith deepened in her eyes. Perhaps he gained some comfort from their steady gaze, his tenseness seemed to relax, his arms fell to his sides.

Suzanna unable to stand the strain longer, flew to him and put her small arms tight about him. ”Oh, are you sick, daddy?” she cried, tears in her voice.

He hesitated, looked down at her, and said simply, very quietly:

”Suzanna, you might as well know the truth now as later. My machine is a failure--I am a failure!”

Her heart leaped sickeningly, her arms fell from about him. In all her life she had never lived through so intense an emotion. Her father, the Great Man, proclaimed himself a failure in tones which struck through her.

The mother's voice rang out clear. ”Richard, you cannot say that.” She looked about the attic made sacred by its high use, ”Here while you worked we all, your children and I, have learned great lessons. You're looking at your machine, an insensate thing, and losing sight of what during its building, you put into the lives of those near to you, living stuff, Richard.”

And then Maizie cried out, ”Oh, daddy, it's just like being on a mountain top when we're in the attic with you. We'll never, never have to stop coming, will we?”

And Suzanna, still deeply troubled, cried: ”Daddy, how could the machine be a failure when it was born because you loved all men, and wanted to make them happy? And the very thought of it up here made me happy. Why, in school on Monday I'd look down all the shapes of the week, and think of Sat.u.r.day afternoon and wish it would come quick.” Her voice broke and the sobs came uncontrollable, shaking the slender body. In a moment she was clasped tight in her father's arms.

After she had regained some composure she looked up at him. ”It hurts me, daddy, so that I can't breathe when you forget that you're a Great Man.”

A silence fell, and into it plunged a voice. ”Good evening,” it said.

There in the doorway stood the Eagle Man. He laughed at their bewildered expressions. ”I rang and rang,” he explained, ”and when no one answered, I looked up at the attic window and thought you must all be upstairs.”

”And was the door unlocked,” cried Mrs. Procter. ”I thought I attended to the doors and windows right after supper.”

”The door was unlocked,” said the Eagle Man, ”and so I took the liberty of coming right in.”

”I'm glad you did,” said Mr. Procter.

”Well, I need your help, Richard,” said old John Ma.s.sey in an affectionate tone.

”It's ready for you, Mr. Ma.s.sey,” the inventor answered warmly.

Suzanna gazing at her old friend, suddenly cried out: ”Oh, your eyes have changed, Eagle Man, they're all nice and s.h.i.+ny.”

He smiled with great fondness at her. ”My dear,” he said, ”how can a man fail to indulge in nice s.h.i.+ning eyes after contact with a family of rare visionaries?”

Suzanna did not understand that. She knew only that the Eagle Man had greatly changed, that he seemed kinder, more understanding, and all at once she knew why. He had had of late the ineffable privilege of being close to her father. Of course, by such proximity he must grow kind and understanding.

”Richard,” said the capitalist, ”there's trouble threatened in the foreign section of the mills.”

”Trouble?” Richard Procter's head went up.

”Yes, the men are dissatisfied, surly. It's the one department where your touch hasn't been felt. I want you to go there on Monday and begin your work.”

”I'll be ready,” said Richard Procter. Strength and purpose seemed to flow back to him.

The Eagle Man turned as though to go, but he paused at the door to look again at Suzanna.

”And so your father's been telling you that he has failed, that his machine refused to work in the final test we gave it at the mills.”