The Road to Understanding Part 19

"Without--your dinner?" John Denby asked the question after a very brief, but very tense, silence.

"My dinner--I got in the square."

Burke's lips snapped together again tight shut. John Denby said nothing.

His eyes were gravely fixed on the glowing tip of the cigar in his hand.

Burke cleared his throat and hesitated. He had not intended to ask his question quite so soon; but suddenly he was consumed with an overwhelming desire to speak out and get it over. He cleared his throat again.

"Dad--would you mind--my sleeping here to-night? It's just that I--I want a good night's sleep, for once," he plunged on hurriedly, in answer to a swift something that he saw leap to his father's eyes. "And I can't get it there--with the baby and all."

There was a perceptible pause. Then, steadily, and with easy cordiality, came John Denby's reply.

"Why, certainly, my boy. I'm glad to have you. I'll ring at once for Benton to see that--that your old room is made ready for you," he added, touching a push-b.u.t.ton near his chair.

Later, when Benton had come and gone, with his kindly old face alight and eager, Burke braced himself for what he thought was inevitable.

Something would come, of course. The only question was, what would it be?

But nothing came--that is, nothing in the nature of what Burke had expected. John Denby, after Benton had left the veranda, turned to his son with a pleasantly casual--

"Oh, Brett was saying to-day that the K. & O. people had granted us an extension of time on that bridge contract."

"Er--yes," plunged in Burke warmly. And with the words, every taut nerve and muscle in his body relaxed as if cut in twain.

It came later, though, when he had ceased to look for it. It came just as he was thinking of saying good-night.

"It has occurred to me, son," broached John Denby, after a short pause, "that Helen may be tired and in sore need of a rest."

Burke caught his breath, and held it a moment suspended. When before had his father mentioned Helen, save to speak of her casually in connection with the baby?

"Er--er--y-yes, very likely," he stammered, a sudden vision coming to him of Helen as he had seen her on the floor in the midst of the inky chaos a short time before.

"You're not the only one that isn't finding the present state of affairs a--a bed of roses, Burke," said John Denby then.

"Er--ah--n-no," muttered the amazed husband. In his ears now rang Helen's--"Maybe you think I ain't tired of working and pinching and slaving!" Involuntarily he s.h.i.+vered and glanced at his father--dad could not, of course, have _heard_!

"I have a plan to propose," announced John Denby quietly, after a moment's silence. "As I said, I think Helen needs a rest--and a change.

I've seen quite a little of her since the baby came, you know, and I've noticed--many things. I will send her a check for ten thousand dollars to-morrow if she will take the baby and go away for a time--say, to her old home for a visit. But there is one other condition," he continued, lifting a quick hand to silence Burke's excited interruption. "I need a rest and change myself. I should like to go to Alaska again; and I'd like to have you go with me. Will you go?"

Burke sprang to his feet and began to pace up and down the wide veranda.

(From boyhood Burke had always "thrashed things out" on his feet.) For a full minute now he said nothing. Then, abruptly, he stopped and wheeled about. His face was very white.

"Dad, I can't. It seems too much like--like--"

"No, it isn't in the least like quitting, or running away," supplied John Denby, reading unerringly his son's hesitation. "You're not quitting at all. I'm asking you to go. Indeed, I'm begging you to go, Burke. I want you. I need you. I'm not an old man, I know; but I feel like one. These last two years have not been--er--a bed of roses for me, either." In spite of a certain lightness in his words, the man's voice shook a little. "I don't think you know, boy, how your old dad has--missed you."

"Don't I? I can--guess." Burke wheeled and resumed his nervous stride.

The words, as he flung them out, were at once a challenge and an admission. "But--Helen--" He stopped short, waiting.

"I've answered that. I've told you. Helen needs a rest and a change."

Again to the distraught husband's ears came the echo of a woman's wailing--"Maybe you think I ain't tired of working and pinching and slaving--"

"Then you don't think Helen will feel that I'm running away?" A growing hope was in his eyes, but his brow still carried its frown of doubt.

"Not if she has a check for--ten thousand dollars," replied John Denby, a bit grimly.

Burke winced. A painful red reached his forehead.

"It is, indeed, a large sum, sir,--too large," he resented, with sudden stiffness. "Thank you; but I'm afraid we can't accept it, after all."

John Denby saw his mistake at once; but he did not make the second mistake of showing it.

"Nonsense!" he laughed lightly, with no sign of the sudden panic of fear within him lest the look on his son's face meant the downfall of all his plans. "I made it large purposely. Remember, I'm borrowing her husband for a season; and she needs some recompense! Besides, it'll mean a playday for herself. You'll not be so unjust to Helen as to refuse her the means to enjoy that!--not that she'll spend it all for that, of course. But it will be a comfortable feeling to know that she has it."

"Y-yes, of course," hesitated Burke, still frowning.

"Then we'll call that settled."

"I know; but-- Of course if you put it _that_ way, why, I--"

"Well, I do put it just that way," nodded the father lightly. "Now, let's go in. I've got some maps and time-tables I want you to see. I'm planning a different route from the one we took with the doctor--a better one, I think. But let's see what you say. Come!" And he led the way to the library.

Burke's head came up alertly. His shoulders lost their droop and his brow its frown. A new light flamed into his eyes and a new springiness leaped into his step. Always, from the time his two-year-old lips had begged to "see the wheels go 'round," had Burke's chief pa.s.sion and delight been traveling. As he bent now over the maps and time-tables that his father spread before him, voice and hands fairly trembled with eagerness. Then suddenly a chance word sent him to his feet again, the old look of despair on his face.

"Dad, I can't," he choked. "I can't be a quitter. You don't want me to be!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: JOHN DENBY WENT STRAIGHT TO HIS SON AND LAID BOTH HANDS ON HIS SHOULDERS]

With a sharp word John Denby, too, leaped to his feet. Something of the dogged persistence that had won for him wealth and power glowed in his eyes as he went straight to his son and laid both hands on his shoulders.

"Burke, I had not meant to say this," he began quietly; "but perhaps it's just as well that I do. Possibly you think I've been blind all these past months; but I haven't. I've seen--a good deal. Now I want you and Helen to be happy. I don't want to see your life--or hers--wrecked.

I believe there's a chance yet for you two people to travel together with some measure of peace and comfort, and I'm trying to give you that chance. There's just one thing to do, I believe, and that is--to be away from each other for a while. You both need it. For weeks I've been planning and scheming how it could be done. How do you suppose I happened to have this Alaska trip all cut and dried even down to the train and boat schedules, if I hadn't done some thinking? To-night came my chance. So I spoke."

"But--to be a quitter!"

"You're not quitting. You're--stopping to get your breath."

"There's--my work."

"You've made good, and more than good there, son. I've been proud of you--every inch of the way. You're no quitter there."

"Thanks, dad!" Only the sudden mist in his eyes and the shake in his voice showed how really moved Burke was. "But--Helen," he stammered then.

"Will be better off without you--for a time."

"And--I?"

"Will be better off without her--for the same time. While I--shall be, oh, so infinitely better off _with_ you. Ah, son, but I've missed you so!" It was the same longing cry that had gone straight to Burke's heart a few minutes before. "You'll come?"