Part 2 (2/2)
”Mother----” said he, throwing his hat upon the table and walking toward her quickly.
”Yes, Don.” (She had named her son Dieudonne--”G.o.d-given.” Those who did not know what this might mean later called him ”Dewdonny,” and hence ”Don.”)
”I didn't thrash them half enough, those fellows, just now.”
”Don't say that, Don. It was too bad--it was terrible that it had to be today, right when you were first coming here. I had been waiting for you so long, and I wanted----”
”Well, I tell you what I want--I want you just to come away with me. I want to get you away from this town, right away, at once, as quick as I can. I'm beginning to see some things and to wonder about others. I am ashamed I have cost you so much--in spite of what Dad left, you had to live close--I can see that now--although I never knew a thing about it until right now. I feel like a big loafer, spending all the money I have, while you have lived like this. Where did you get it, Mom?”
She swept a gesture about her with both hands. ”I got it here,” said she suddenly. ”It _all_ came from--here. You father sent you--nothing! I've not let you know all the truth--you've known almost nothing of the truth.”
Then her native instinct forced her to amend. ”At least half of it came from here. It was honest money, Don, you know it was that, don't you--you believe it was honest?”
”Money that would have burned my fingers if I had known how it came. But I didn't. What's up here? Have you fooled me, tricked me--made a loafer of me? I supposed my father set aside enough for my education--and enough for you, too. What's been wrong here? What's under all this? Tell me, now!”
His mother's eyes were turned away from him. ”At least we have done it, Don,” said she, with her shrewd, crooked smile. ”We've not to do it over again. You can't forget what you have learned--you can't get away from your college education now, can you? You've got it--your diploma, your degree in engineering. You're a college man, Don, the only one in Spring Valley. And I'm so proud, and I'm so glad. Oh! Don--Don----”
She laid a hand on his breast shyly, almost afraid of him now--the first hand she had ever laid upon the heart of any man these twenty years. It was her son, a man finished, a gentleman, she hoped.... Could he not be a gentleman? So many things of that sort happened here in America. Poor boys had come up and come through--had they not? And even a poor boy might grow up to be a gentleman--was not that true--oh, might it not after all be true?
He laid his own hand over hers now, the hand on which the blood was not yet dried.
”Mom,” said he, ”I ought to go back and thrash the life out of that man yet. I ought to wring the neck of that doddering old fool marshal. I ought to whip every drunken loafer on those streets. Whose business was it? Couldn't we cross the square without all that?”
He stopped suddenly, the fatal thought ever recurring to his mind. But he lacked courage. Why should he not? Was this not far worse than facing death for both of them? Their eyes no longer sought one another.
”Mom----” said he, with effort now.
”Yes, my boy.”
”_Where's my dad?_”
A long silence fell. Could she lie to him now?
”The truth now!” he said after a time.
”You have none, Don!” said she gaspingly at last. ”He's gone. Isn't that enough? He's dead--yes--call him dead--for he's gone.”
He pushed back roughly and looked at her straight.
”Did he really leave any money for my education?”
She looked at him, her throat fluttering. ”I wish I could lie,” said she. ”I do wish I could lie to you. I have almost forgot how. I have been trying so long to live on the square--I don't believe, Don, I know how to do any different. I've been trying to live so that--so that----”
”So what, mother?”
”So I could be worthy of _you_, Don! That's been about all my life.”
”_I have no father?_”
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