Part 43 (2/2)

I know the duty I owe my parents, and shall perform it. I shall write to them also. They shall hear both sides, and were your fortune multiplied a thousand times, I won't sell my manhood for it. Am I to have shelter another night, or do you wash your hands of me here and now?”

”Oh, stay by all means, or you may find yourself in the same cell in which your paragon spent last night,” replied his uncle, whose rage now pa.s.sed all bounds.

”Those words are brutal,” said Roger sternly, ”and if you are not ashamed of them after thinking them over, you are not the man I took you to be,” and he stalked out of the room and out of the house, slamming the door after him.

The old merchant sank into a chair, trembling with both anger and chagrin, for he felt that he had been worsted in the encounter. He did regret the words as soon as spoken, and a certain rude sense of justice made him feel, even in his excitement, that his nephew, although an egregious fool of course, had been true to his sense of right and honor. He was a.s.suredly the victim of a designing lot of women, but believing them to be true, his course had been manly, and the thought would come, ”Since he was so faithful to them, he would have been equally so to me, and he might have found the hussies out in time to prevent trouble.” And now he had said words which in effect turned his brother's son out of doors at midnight With something like a groan and an oath he resolved not to write that night, and to see how he felt in the morning. His nephew on provocation had proved as great a Tartar as he knew himself to be, and he now remembered that the former had some excuse in his hot young blood, and that he had a right to choose against his offer, if fool enough to do it, without being reviled and insulted.

After a wretched night he found on the breakfast-table a brief, cold note from Roger, saying that he would inform him in a day or two where to send his effects and such part of his salary as remained unpaid. The old man frowned, and the Atwood pride and obstinacy took possession of him like evil spirits. In grim reticence he resumed his old routine and life, and again gave himself up to the mechanical acc.u.mulation and saving of money.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

NO ”DARK CORNERS”

From his uncle's house Roger went to a small hotel and obtained a room in which to spend a sleepless night. After the excitement of anger pa.s.sed, he recognized the difficulties of his position. He was worse than friendless in the great city, for when he sought employment and gave an account of his antecedents, people would ask suspiciously why he left his uncle. The reasons were of too delicate a nature to be babbled about in business offices.

At first he was much depressed, and complained that ”luck was dead against him.” Moreover he felt that he had responded too harshly to his uncle, who, after all, was only trying to aid him in his cold-blooded way. Nevertheless he, too, had his share of the Atwood pride and obstinacy, and he resolved that the man who had called him a ”soft-headed fool” for sacrificing himself to his sense of honor and duty must apologize before there could be any reconciliation.

His good sense led him to make one wise resolution, and early in the morning he carried it out by making a clean breast of it to Mr.

Wentworth. The good man listened with deep interest, and heartened the young fellow wonderfully by clapping him on the shoulder and saying, ”You are made of the right stuff, Atwood, and although the material is yet a little raw and crude, experience and Christian principle will temper it in time into the finest metal.”

”Don't ascribe Christian principle to me,” growled Roger, ”for I'm tempted to swear like a pirate.”

”Very likely, and not without some reason. I occasionally feel a little that way myself, but I don't do it; neither have you.”

Roger stared. ”You're not a bit like a minister,” he burst out.

”Sorry to hear it.”

”That isn't what I mean. You are a MAN. Our dominie up at Forestville was only a minister.”

”I have my share of human nature, Roger, and am glad of it, for I know from experience just how you young fellows feel. But it involves many a big fight. Christian principle doesn't mean a cotton-and-wool nature, or a milk-and-water experience, to put it in a homely way.

It's Christian principle that makes Mildred Jocelyn, as you say, one of the bravest and best girls in the world. She's worth more than all your uncle's money, and you needn't be discouraged, for you'll win her yet. A young fellow with your pluck can make his way unaided, and thousands have done so without your motives or your ability. I'll stand by you, for you are the kind of man that I believe in. To make your course completely blameless, you must write a long filial letter to your mother, explaining everything; and if you'll take my advice you will send something like this to your uncle;” and sitting down he scratched off the following words:

”On calmer reflection I perceive that your intentions toward me were kindly and friendly. I should have remembered this, and the respect due to your years, and not have spoken so harshly. For all that it was not right for me to say, I apologize. At the same time it is my undoubted right and unwavering purpose to be guided by my own conscience. Our views of life and duty vary so widely that it will be best for me to struggle on alone, as I can. This, however, is no reason why we should quarrel, or forget the ties of blood which unite us, or our characters as gentlemen.”

”Such a note will put you right with your own conscience and your people at home,” resumed Mr. Wentworth, ”and there's nothing like starting right.”

Roger complied at once, for the clergyman's ”human nature” had gained his unlimited confidence.

”Now I'm going out,” said his friend. ”You stay and make my study your own. There is paper, etc. I think I know of a room that you can obtain for a small sum from a nice, quiet family, and perhaps it will just suit you. I'll see; but don't take it if you don't like it. You'll stay and lunch with us, and we'll drink to your success in generous cups of coffee that only my wife knows how to make,” and he left Roger cheered, hopeful, and resolute. What was better still, the young man was starting right, as was well proved by the long, affectionate, yet firm and manly letter written to his mother.

After a genial lunch, at which he was treated with a respect and kindness which did him a world of good, he went with Mr. Wentworth to see the room, and was well pleased with it, and he added his future address to the note to his uncle. He then said:

”I keep my promise about Mr. Jocelyn, and the sooner that man is put under treatment the better.”

”Why, Roger!” exclaimed his friend, ”you can't do anything now.”

”I can do just what I promised. I have a hundred dollars in the bank, and there is about twenty-five still due me. With the latter sum I can get along until I can find employment.”

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