The Sins of the Father Part 69

There were three courses open.

He could accept her demand, acknowledge Helen to his son, establish her in his home, throw his self-respect to the winds and sink to the woman's level. It was unthinkable! Besides, the girl would never recover from the shock. She would disappear or take her own life. He felt it with instinctive certainty. But the thing which made such a course impossible was the fact that it meant his daily degradation before the boy. He would face death without a tremor sooner than this.

He could defy Cleo and pack Helen off to Europe on the next steamer, and risk a scandal that would shake the state, overwhelm the party he was leading, disgrace him not only before his son but before the world, and set back the cause he had at heart for a generation.

It was true she might weaken when confronted with the crisis that would mean the death of her own hopes. Yet the risk was too great to act on such a possibility. Her defiance had in it all the elements of finality, and he had accepted it as final.

The simpler alternative was a temporary solution which would give him time to think and get his bearings. He could return to the campaign immediately, take Tom with him, keep him in the field every day until the election, ask Helen to stay until his return, and after his victory had been achieved settle with the woman.

It was the wisest course for many reasons, and among them not the least that it would completely puzzle Cleo as to his ultimate decision.

He rang for Andy:

"Ask Mr. Tom to come here."

Andy bowed and Norton resumed his seat.

When Tom entered, the father spoke with quick decision:

"The situation in this campaign, my boy, is tense and dangerous. I want you to go with me to-morrow and stay to the finish."

Tom flushed and there was a moment's pause:

"Certainly, Dad, if you wish it."

"We'll start at eight o'clock in the morning and drive through the country to the next appointment. Fix your business at the office this afternoon, place your men in charge and be ready to leave promptly at eight. I've some important writing to do. I'm going to lock myself in my room until it's done. See that I'm not disturbed except to send Andy up with my supper.

I'll not finish before midnight."

"I'll see to it, sir," Tom replied, turned and was gone.

The father had watched the boy with keen scrutiny every moment and failed to catch the slightest trace of resentment or of hesitation. The pause he had made on receiving the request was only an instant of natural surprise.

Before leaving next morning he sent for Helen who had not appeared at breakfast.

She hastened to answer his summons and he found no trace of anger, resentment or rebellion in her gentle face. Every vestige of the shadow he had thrown over her life seem to have lifted. A tender smile played about her lips as she entered the room.

"You sent for me, major?" she asked with the slightest tremor of timidity in her voice.

"Yes," he answered gravely. "I wish you to remain here until Tom and I return. We'll have a conference then about your future."

"Thank you," she responded simply.

"I trust you will not find yourself unhappy or embarra.s.sed in remaining here alone until we return?"

"Certainly not, major, if it is your wish," was the prompt response.

He bowed and murmured:

"I'll see you soon."

Tom waved his hand from the buggy when his father's back was turned and threw her an audacious kiss over his head as the tall figure bent to climb into the seat. The girl answered with another from her finger tips which he caught with a smile.

Norton's fears of Tom were soon at rest at the sight of his overflowing boyish spirits. He had entered into the adventure of the campaign from the moment he found himself alone with his father, and apparently without reservation.

Through every one of his exciting speeches, when surrounded by hostile crowds, the father had watched Tom's face with a subconscious smile. At the slightest noise, the shuffle of a foot, the mutter of a drunken word, or the movement of a careless listener, the keen eyes of the boy had flashed and his right arm instinctively moved toward his hip pocket.

When the bitter struggle had ended, father and son had drawn closer than ever before in life. They had become chums and comrades.

Norton had planned his tour to keep him out of town until after the polls closed on the day of election. They had spent several nights within fifteen or twenty miles of the Capital, but had avoided home.

He had planned to arrive at the speaker's stand in the Capitol Square in time to get the first returns of the election.

Five thousand people were packed around the bulletin board when they arrived on a delayed train.

The first returns indicated that the leader's daring platform had swept the state by a large majority. The negro race had been disfranchised and the ballot restored to its original dignity. And much more had been done. The act was purely political, but its effects on the relations, mental and moral and physical, of the two races, so evenly divided in the South, would be tremendous.

The crowds of cheering men and women felt this instinctively, though it had not as yet found expression in words.

A half-dozen stalwart men with a rush and a shout seized Norton and lifted him, blus.h.i.+ng and protesting, carried him on their shoulders through the yelling crowd and placed him on the platform.

He had scarcely begun his speech when Tom, watching his chance, slipped hurriedly through the throng and flew to the girl who was waiting with beating heart for the sound of his footstep.

CHAPTER XVIII

LOVE LAUGHS

When Helen had received a brief note from Tom the night before the election that he would surely reach home the next day, she s.n.a.t.c.hed his picture from the library table with a cry of joy and rushed to her room.

She placed the little gold frame on her bureau, sat down before it and poured out her heart in silly speeches of love, pausing to laugh and kiss the gla.s.s that saved the miniature from ruin. The portrait was an exquisite work of art on ivory which the father had commisioned a painter in New York to do in celebration of Tom's coming of age. The artist had caught the boy's spirit in the tender smile that played about his lips and lingered in the corners of his blue eyes, the same eyes and lips in line and color in the dainty little mother's portrait over the mantel.

"Oh, you big, handsome, brave, glorious boy!" she cried in ecstasy. "My sweetheart--so generous, so clean, so strong, so free in soul! I love you--I love you--I love you!"

She fell asleep at last with the oval frame clasped tight in one hand thrust under her pillow. A sound sleep was impossible, the busy brain was too active. Again and again she waked with a start, thinking she had heard his swift footfall on the stoop.

At daybreak she leaped to her feet and found herself in the middle of the room laughing when she came to herself, the precious picture still clasped in her hand.

"Oh, foolish heart, wake up!" she cried with another laugh. "It's dawn, and my lover is coming! It's his day! No more sleep--it's too wonderful! I'm going to count every hour until I hear his step--every minute of every hour, foolish heart!"

She looked out the window and it was raining. The overhanging boughs of the oaks were dripping on the tin roof of the bay window in which she was standing. She had dreamed of a wonderful sunrise this morning. But it didn't matter--the rain didn't matter. The slow, familiar dropping on the roof suggested the nearness of her lover. They would sit in some shadowy corner hand in hand and love all the more tenderly. The raindrops were the drum beat of a band playing the march that was bringing him nearer with each throb. The mocking-bird that had often waked her with his song was silent, hovering somewhere in a tree beneath the thick leaves. She had expected him to call her to-day with the sweetest lyric he had ever sung.

Somehow it didn't matter. Her soul was singing the song that makes all other music dumb.

"My love is coming!" she murmured joyfully. "My love is coming!"

And then she stood for an hour in brooding, happy silence and watched the ghost-like trees come slowly out of the mists. To her s.h.i.+ning eyes there were no mists. The gray film that hung over the waking world was a bridal veil hiding the blus.h.i.+ng face of the earth from the sun-G.o.d lover who was on his way over the hills to clasp her in his burning arms!