XXXVI

TEN days passed. It was now towards the close of a hot and sultry August. Nothing more had been heard of Nelson Floyd, and the sensation due to his mysterious absence had, to some extent, subsided. That Mayhew knew of his whereabouts few persons doubted, for it was noticeable that the old man had put his shoulder to the wheel and was attending to business with less fear and nervousness. It was the opinion of Mrs. Snodgrass that he knew exactly where Floyd was, and expected him to return sooner or later. In fact, it was known to many that Mayhew had suddenly ceased to make inquiry through detectives and the police, and that meant something. The information that Floyd had been back in secret to his home would have startled the community from centre to outer edge, but that was discreetly kept to themselves by the few who knew of it.

Pole Baker was the first to meet Floyd again. It was in Atlanta. Standing in the main entrance of the Kimball House one afternoon, Pole saw Floyd on the opposite side of the street. He was walking rapidly, his head up. He was neatly dressed, cleanshaven, and had a clear, healthful complexion, as if he were in good physical condition.

“Thank God! thar he goes,” Pole exclaimed, “an' I'll bet a hoss he's quit drinkin'.” Quickly darting across the street, he followed Floyd the best he could on the crowded sidewalk. He had pursued him thus for several blocks when Floyd suddenly entered one of the large wholesale dry-goods stores. Reaching the door and looking in, Pole saw his friend just disappearing in the glass-enclosed office in the rear of the big room. Pole entered and stood waiting amid the stacks of cotton and woollen goods which, in rolls and bolts, were heaped as high as his shoulders over the whole floor. Salesmen were busy with customers in different parts of the room, and porters and “stock men” hurried by with big baskets on wheels, and little notice was taken of the mountaineer.

Presently Floyd emerged and came rapidly down one of the aisles towards the door. Pole stepped directly in front of him.

“Why, hello!” Floyd exclaimed, flushing suddenly as he cordially extended his hand. “I wasn't looking for you, Pole.”

“Well, you differ from me,” said Baker; “that's just what I was doin'. I was lookin' fer you, Nelson. I begun yesterday an' kept it up till I seed you go by the Kimball jest now like you was shot out of a gun, an' I bent to the trail, an' here I am. Yes, I want to see you. I've got a favor to ax, old friend.”

“Well, you can have anything I've got.” Floyd smiled rather sheepishly as he laid his hand on Pole's shoulder. “The only trouble right now is that I'm pressed for time. A lot depends on what may take place in the next two hours, and I'm afraid to think of anything else. When do you go back?”

“Oh, I kin take a train any time. I'm in no big hurry, Nelson. All I want is to get to talk to you a few minutes.”

“Then I'll tell you what to do,” Floyd proposed. “Take this key to my room at the Kimball House. I've got a bed to spare up there. And, more than that, Pole, go in and take your supper in my place. It will be all right. I registered on the American plan. Then I'll meet you in the room about eight o'clock. You see, it's this way: I've brought a fellow with me from Birmingham, and he's back there in the office now. He and I are on a trade for all my iron lands in Alabama. A thing like this is a big, exciting game with me; it drives out all other thoughts, and, the Lord knows, right now I need some diversion. He and I are going to the house of a friend of his in the country and take early supper there. I'll be back by eight, sure, Pole.”

“That'll suit me all right,” said Pole, as he took the key and looked at the number on the brass tag. “I'll be there, Nelson. I wouldn't let you stand for my expenses, but if your bill's paid anyway, that's different.”

“Yes, it won't cost me a cent extra,” said Floyd. “Here comes my man now. I'd introduce you, but we are in a devil of a hurry.”

“Are you ready?” a middle-aged man in a linen suit and straw hat asked, as he walked up hastily. “I'll make the driver strike a brisk gait.”

“Yes, I'm ready,” Floyd said, and he turned to Baker. “Don't forget, Pole.” As he was walking away, he threw back: “I'll meet you at eight or before, sure. I don't want to miss you.”

THAT night, after supper, Pole was in Floyd's room at the hotel. The weather being warm, he had raised the window, which opened on a busy street, and sat smoking, with his coat off. From the outside came the clanging of street-car bells and the shrill voices of newsboys crying the afternoon papers. Suddenly he heard the iron door of the elevator slide back, and a moment later Floyd stood on the threshold of the room.

“Well, I succeeded, Pole!” he cried, sitting down on the window-sill and fanning himself with his straw hat. “I sold out, lock, stock, and barrel, and at an advance that I never would have dreamed of asking if I hadn't been in a reckless mood. Really, I didn't know the property was so valuable. My man kept hanging onto me, following me from place to place, wanting to know what I'd take, till finally, simply to get rid of him, I priced the property at three times what I had ever asked for it. To mv astonishment, he said he would come over to Atlanta with me, and if certain friends of his would help him carry it he would trade. Pole, my boy, I've made more money to-day than I've made all the rest of my life put together, and”—Floyd sighed as he tossed his hat on one of the beds and locked his hands behind his neck—“I reckon I care less for material prosperity than I ever did.”

“Well, I'm glad you made a good trade,” Pole said. “You were born lucky, my boy.”

“Oh, I don't know,” answered Floyd; “but here I am talking about my own affairs when you came to see me about yours. What can I do for you, Pole? If it's money you want, you certainly came to headquarters, and you can get all you want and no questions asked.”

“I didn't come to see you on my own business, Nelson,” Pole answered. “I'm here on account of old man Mayhew. Nelson, he's mighty nigh plumb crazy over you bein' away. He can't run that thing up thar single-handed; he's leaned too long on you fer that, an' then he's gittin' old and sorter childish. I never knowed it before, Nelson, but he looks on you sorter like a son. The old fellow's eyes got full an' he choked up when he was beggin' me to come down here an' see you. He gathered from yore last letter that you intended to go West and live, an' he called me in an' begged me to come and persuade you not to do it. Nelson, I'll hate it like rips, too, ef you leave us. Them old mountains is yore rightful home, an' I'm here to tell you that God Almighty never give any one man more friends than you've got amongst them plain, honest folks. By gum! they jest stand around in bunches an' talk an' talk about you an'—an' yore—late trouble. Thar ain't one in the lot but what 'ud be glad to help you bear it.”

Floyd stood up suddenly, and, with his hands behind him, he began to walk back and forth across the room.

“It's the only spot on earth I'll ever care about,” Pole heard him say in a deep, husky voice, “and God knows I love the people; but I don't want to go back, Pole. Fate rather rubbed it in on me up there. All my early life I nursed the hope that I would eventually be able to prove that my parents were good, respectable people, and then when I was beginning to despair it went out that I belonged to a great and high family, and the aristocracy of the section extended their hands and congratulated me and patted me on the back. But that wasn't for long. My guardian angel—my old stand-by, Pole—came to me with a malignant grin and handed me the information that I was—was what you couldn't call the humblest man you know up there and live a minute later.”

“I know—I know, Nelson,” sighed Pole, his honest face tortured by inward sympathy. “I see you've got a big, big argument in favor o' the step you are thinking about, but I want to see if I can't put it to you in another light. Listen to me, my boy. Different men suffer in different ways. Maybe you don't think I've suffered any to speak of. But, my boy, when I was tried by my peers up thar, in the open court of God's soft starlight—-when my neighbors, well-meanin', fair-thinkin' folks, come to me in the night-time an' called me out to lay the lash on my bare back fer wilful neglect o' them that was dear an' true to me, all—all, I say—that was wuth a tinker's damn in me sunk down, down into the bottomless pit o' hell. I thought about shirkin', about pullin' up stakes an' goin' away off some'rs to begin new, but I seed that wouldn't wipe it out o' folks' memories, nor out o' me, and so I decided to stay right thar an' fight—fight it to a finish. It was awful to meet them men in the light o' day with the'r masks off, an' know what each one was a-think-in', but I went through it, and, thank God, I begin to see light ahead. It looks like they understand my struggle an' think none the less o' me. Lord, Lord, ef you could jest witness the kind words an' gentle ways o' them men towards me an' mine now, you'd believe what preachers say about the spirit o' God dwellin' in every man's breast.”

Floyd had turned, and he now laid a sympathetic hand on Pole's shoulder.

“I knew what you were going through,” he said, “and I wanted to help you, but didn't know how. Then this damned thing came on me like a bolt from a clear sky.”

“Nelson, listen to me. I am here to-night to beg you to do like I done—to come back to yore old home and meet that thing face to face. As God is my judge, I believe sech great big troubles as yore'n are laid on folks fer a good purpose. Other men have gone through exactly what you've had to bear, an' lived to become great characters in the history o' the world's progress. Nelson, that's the one an' only thing left fer you to do. It's hell, but it will be fer yore own good in the end. Buck up agin it, my boy, an' what seems hard now will look as easy after a while as failin' off a log.”

Floyd turned and began to walk back and forth again. The room was filled with silence. Through the open window came the sound of brass musical instruments, the rattling of a tambourine, the ringing of cymbals. Then a clear voice—that of a young woman—rose in a sacred song. It was a band of Salvationists clustered near a street corner under a hanging arc light. Floyd paused near to Pole and looked thoughtfully from the window; then he sat down on the bed. For a moment he stared at the floor, and then, folding his arms across his breast, he suddenly raised his head.

“Pole,” he said, firmly, “I'm going to take your advice.”

There was silence. The two men sat facing each other. Suddenly the mountaineer leaned over and said: “Give me your hand on it, Nelson. You'll never regret this as long as you live.”

Floyd extended his hand and then got up and began to walk back and forth across the room again.

“I've got another trouble to bear, Pole,” he said, gloomily.

“You say you have, Nelson?”

“Yes, and it is worse than all. Pole, I've lost the love of the only woman I ever really cared for.”

“You mean Cynthia Porter?” said Pole, and he leaned forward, his eyes burning.

Floyd nodded, took one or two steps, and then paused near to Pole. “You don't know it, perhaps, but I've been back up there lately.”

“Oh no!”

“Yes, I went back to see her. I couldn't stay away from her. I had been on a protracted spree. I was on the brink of suicide, in a disordered condition of mind and body, when all at once it occurred to me that perhaps she might not absolutely scorn me. Pole, the very hope that she might be willing to share my misfortune suddenly sobered me. I was in an awful condition, but I stopped drinking and went up there one night. I secretly met her and proposed an elopement. The poor little girl was so excited that she would not decide then, but she agreed to give me her final decision a week later.”

“Great God! you don't mean it, Nelson!” the mountaineer cried in surprise—“shorely you don't!”

“Yes, I do. Then I went back to fill the appointment, but she had confided it all to her mother, and the old lady came out and told me that Cynthia not only refused me, but that she earnestly hoped I would never bother her again.”

“My Lord!” Pole exclaimed; “and there was a time when I actually thought—but that'shermatter, Nelson. A man hain't got no right on earth dabblin' in a woman's heart-affairs. To me nothin' ain't more sacred than a woman's choice of her life-partner.”

“Mrs. Porter hinted plainly that Cynthia was thinking of marrying Hillhouse,” said Floyd.

“Ah, now I begin to see ahead!” the farmer said, reflectively. “Cynthia's down at Cartersville now, on a visit to her cousins, and the long-legged parson is there, too, filling in for another preacher. I don't pretend to understand women, Nelson. Thar's been a lots o' talk about her and Hillhouse since you went off. I axed Sally what she thought about it, an' she seemed to think if Cynthia had quit thinkin' o' you it was due to the reports in circulation that you had started in to drinkin'. Sally thought that Cynthia was one woman that 'ud not resk her chance with a drinkin' man. Cynthia's a good girl, Nelson, and maybe she thinks she kin make herse'f useful in life by marrying a preacher. I dunno. And then he is a bright sort of fellow; he is sharp enough to know that she is the smartest and best unmarried woman in Georgia. Well, that will be purty hard fer you to bear, but you must face it along with the other, my boy.”

“Yes, I've got to grin and bear it,” Floyd said, almost under his breath. “I've got to face that and the knowledge that I might have won her if I had gone about it in the right way. From my unfortunate father I have inherited some gross passions, Pole, and I was not always strong enough to rise above them. I made many big mistakes before I met her, and even after that, I blush to say, my old tendency clung to me so that—well, I never understood her, as she really deserved, till the day you raked me over the coals at the bush-arbor meeting. Pole, that night, when she and I were thrown by the storm in that barn together, I remembered all you said. It seemed to give me new birth, and I saw her for the first time as she was, in all her wonderful womanly strength and beauty of character and soul, and from that moment I loved her. My God, Pole, the realization of that big, new passion broke over me like a great, dazzling light. It took me in its grasp and shook everything that was vile and gross out of me. From that moment I could never look into her face for very shame of having failed to comprehend her.”

“I seed you was in danger,” Pole said, modestly. “It was a mighty hard thing to have to talk as I did to a friend, but I felt that it was my duty, and out it come. I'm not goin' to take no hand in this, though, Nelson. I think you are in every way worthy o' her, but, as I say, only a woman kin tell who she ought to yoke with fer life. If she refused you, after due deliberation, an' decided on another man, why, I hain't one single word to say. I'm after her happiness, as I'm after yore'n. I'd like to see you linked together, but ef that ain't to be, then I want to see you both happy apart.”

For a moment neither spoke. Then it seemed that Pole wanted to change the subject.

“In tryin' to run upon you this mornin', Nelson,” he said, “I went out to yore—out to Henry A. Floyd's. That woman, his housekeeper, met me at the door an' let me inside the hall. She's a kind, talkative old soul, and she's worried mighty nigh to death about the old man. She remembered seein' me before, an' she set in to tellin' me all about his troubles. It seems that he's had some lawsuit, an' his last scrap o' property is to be tuck away from him. She told me thar was a debt of three thousand dollars to pay in the morning or' everything would go. While she was talkin' he come along, lookin' more dead than alive, an' I axed 'im ef he could put me on to yore track. He glared at me like a crazy man; his jaws was all sunk in, an' with his gray hair an' beard untrimmed, an' his body all of a quiver, he simply looked terrible.

“'No,' said he, 'I don't know whar you kin find 'im. I've heard that he was in trouble, an' I'm sorry, fer I know what trouble means,' an' with that he stood thar twistin' his hands an' cryin' like a pitiful little child about the three thousand dollars his creditors wanted, an' that thar wasn't a ghost of a chance to raise it. He said he'd made every effort, an' now was starin' starvation in the face. He turned an' went back to his room, puttin' his old, bony hand on the wall to keep from failin' as he moved along. I'm a pore man, Nelson, but, by all that's holy, ef I'd 'a' had the money the old chap wanted this mornin' I'd 'a' hauled it out an' 'a' kissed it farewell. I'm that way, Nelson. A fool an' his money is soon parted. I'd 'a' been seven idiots in a row ef I'd 'a' had that much cash, fer I'd certainly 'a' yanked that squirmin' old. chap off'n his bed o' coals.”

Floyd bent towards the speaker. Their eyes met understandingly.

“But I've got money, Pole—money to spare—and that old wreck is my father's only brother. I've made a fortune in a single deal to-day. Look here, Pole, I'm going out there to-night—to-night, do you understand?—to-night, before he goes to bed, and give him a check that will more than cover his shortage.”

“Are you goin' to do that, Nelson?”

“Yes, I am. Do you want to come along to witness it?”

“No, I'll wait fer you here, but God bless you, my boy. You'll never, never be sorry fer it, if you live to be a hundred years old.”

Floyd sat down at a table, and, with a checkbook in hand, was adjusting his fountain-pen. Pole went to the window and looked out. Down in the glare below a woman in a blue hood and dress stood praying aloud, in a clear, appealing voice, while all about her were grouped the other Salvationists and a few earnest-eyed spectators.

“That's right, Miss Blue-frock,” Pole said to himself; “go ahead an' rake in yore converts from the highways an' byways, but I've got one in this room you needn't bother about. By gum! ef it was jest a little darker in here, I'll bet I could see a ring o' fire round his head.”

IN the street below, Nelson took a car for his uncle's residence, and fifteen minutes later he was standing on the veranda ringing the bell. Through a window on his left he looked into a lighted room. He saw old Floyd's bent figure moving about within, and then the housekeeper admitted him into the dimly lighted hall. She regarded him with surprise as she recalled his face.

“You want to see Mr. Floyd?” she said. “I'll see if he will let you come in. He's in a frightful condition, sir, over his troubles. Really, sir, he's so desperate I'm afraid he may do himself some harm.”

Leaving Nelson standing in the hall, she went into the lighted room, and the young man heard her talking persuasively to her master. Presently she came back and motioned the visitor to enter. He did so, finding the old man standing over a table covered with letters, deeds, and other legal documents. He did not offer his hand, and the young man stood in some embarrassment before him.

“Well,” old Floyd said, “what do you want? Are you here to gloat over me?”

“No, I am not,” returned the visitor. “It is simply because I do not feel that way that I came. A friend of mine was here to-day, and he said you were in trouble.”

“Trouble?—huh!” snarled old Floyd. “I guess you are glad to know that.”

“I certainly am not,” Nelson said, warmly. “I heard of it only a few minutes ago at the Kimball House, where I am staying, and I took the first car to reach you. I wish I had heard of the matter earlier—that is, if you will allow me to help you out.”

“You—you help me?” Old Floyd extended his thin hand and drew a chair to him and sank into it. “They've all talked that way—every money-lender and banker that I have applied to. They all say they want to help, but when they look at these”—Floyd waved his hand despondently over the documents—“when they look at these, and see the size of the mortgage, they make excuses and back out. I don't want to waste time with you. I know what sort of man you are. You have made what you've got by being as close as the bark on a tree, and I'm going to tell you at the outset that I haven't any security—not a dollar's worth.”

“I didn't want security,” Nelson said, looking sympathetically down into the withered face.

“You don't want—” The old man, his hands on his knees, made an effort to rise, but failed. “My Lord, you say you don't want security; then—then what the devildoyou want?”

“I want togiveyou the money, if you'll do me the honor to accept it,” Nelson declared. “My friend told me the amount was exactly three thousand. I have drawn this check for four.” The young man was extending the pink slip of paper towards him. “And if that is not enough to put you squarely on your feet, I am ready to increase it.”

“You mean—” The old man took the check and, with blearing eyes and shaking hands, examined it in the lamplight. “You mean that you willgive—actually,giveme four thousand dollars, when I haven't a scrap of security to put up?”

“Yes, that's exactly what I mean.”

Old Floyd took his eyes from the check and shrinkingly raised them to the young man's face. Then he dropped the paper on the table and groaned. There was silence for a moment. The housekeeper, passing by the open door, looked in wonderingly, and moved on. The old man saw her, and, rising suspiciously, he shambled to the door and closed it. Then he turned aimlessly and came slowly back, his hand pressed to his brow.

“I can't make it out,” Nelson heard him muttering. “I'm afraid of it. It may be a trick, and yet what trick could anybody play on a man in the hole I'm in?Four thousand?” He was looking first at the check and then at his caller. “Four thousand would save me from actual ruin—it would make me comfortable for life. I can't believe you mean to give it to me—reallygiveit. The world isn't built that way. It would be very unbecoming in me to doubt you, to impugn your motives, sir, but I'm all upset. The doctors say my mind is affected. One lawyer, a sharper, suggested that I could get out of this debt by claiming that I was not mentally responsible when I signed the papers, but that wouldn't work. I knew mighty well what I was doing. Now, on top of it all, here you come—youof all living men—and, in so many plain English words—offer to give me a thousand more than the debt. Sir, I don't want to be impolite, but I simply can't believe that you mean it.”

Greatly moved, the young man put his hands on the old man's shoulders and gently pressed him down into his chair; then he got another and sat close to him.

“Try to look at this thing calmly,” he said. “In the first place, you don't understand me. You are not a relative of mine by law, but by blood you are the only one I ever saw. You are the brother of the man who gave me life—such as it is—and, for aught I know, you may even resemble him. I have been in great trouble over the revelations you made recently, but all that has burned itself to a cinder within me, and I have determined to go back up there in the mountains and face it. But that isn't all. Certain investments I have made in the past are turning out money in the most prodigal manner. The amount I am offering you is a mere trifle to what I have made in one single transfer of property to-day. I sincerely want you to take it. It would give me great joy to help you, and, if you refuse, it will pain me more than I can say. We are not relatives before the world, but we are by ties of nature, and I pity you to-night as I never pitied any human being in my life.”

“My God! my God!” The old man struggled again to his feet, his eyes avoiding Nelson's earnest stare. “Wait here. Keep your seat, sir. Let me think. I can't take your money without making a return for it. Let me think.” He tottered to the door, opened it, and passed out into the hall. There Nelson heard him striding back and forth for several minutes. Presently he came back. He was walking more erectly. There was in his eyes a flitting gleam of hope. Approaching, he laid a quivering hand on Nelson's shoulder. “I have thought of a plan,” he said, almost eagerly. “Your partner in business, Mr.—Mr. Mayhew, came down here looking for you, and he told me how my unpleasant disclosure had unstrung you, upset your prospects, and caused you to leave home. Now, see here. It has just occurred to me that I am actually the only living individual who knows the—the true facts about your birth and your father's life. Now here is what I can and will do—you see, whatIsay, whatItestify to during my lifetime will stand always. I am willing to take that—that money, if you will let me give you sworn papers, showing that it was all a mistake, and that your parents were actually man and wife. This could harm no one, and it would be only justice to you.”

Nelson stood up suddenly. It was as if a great light had suddenly burst over him. His blood bounded through his veins.

“You will do that?” he cried—“to?”

“Yes, and not a living soul could ever contradict it,” the old man said, eagerly. “I can put into your hands indisputable proof. More than that, I'll write up to Mayhew and Duncan in your neighborhood and show the matter in a thoroughly new light.”

The eyes of the two men met. For a moment there was silence in the room so profound that the flame of the lamp made an audible sound like the drone of an imprisoned insect. The old man was the first to speak.

“What do you say?” he asked, almost gleefully, and he rubbed his palms together till the dry skin emitted a low, rasping sound.

Suddenly Nelson sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands.

“What do you say?” repeated the old man; “surely you won't re—”

He was interrupted by Nelson, who suddenly looked up, and with a frank stare into the old man's face he said, calmly:

“No, I can't be a party to that, Mr. Floyd. I fully understand all it would mean to me before the world, but I am not willing to bear the stamp of a lie, no matter how justifiable it may seem, all through life. A man can enjoy being only what he really is, either high or low. No, sir, I appreciate your willingness to help me, but you can't do it that way.”

“Why, you—you can't mean to refuse!” old Floyd gasped.

“Ihaveto,” said the young man. “As for the real dishonesty of the thing, I might as well be any other sort of impostor. No, I want to be only what I am in this world. Besides, I can't be a party to your swearing a lie. No, I'll have to decline.”

“Then—then,” the old man groaned—“then I can't take your money.”

“But you'll have to,” Nelson smiled, sadly. “I canmakeyou do it. I'll give you no other recourse. I shall simply instruct the bank in the morning to place it to your credit and charge it to my account. If you don't draw it out, neither you nor I will get the benefit of it, for I shall never touch it again.”

Taking his hat, Nelson moved towards the door, followed by the tottering, faintly protesting old man. And as he was leaving the last words the visitor heard were: “I can't take it, sir. I can't take money from you, as bad as I need it. I can't—I can't!”

When Nelson Floyd reached the hotel it was eleven o'clock. He found Pole seated in the dark at an open window, his coat and shoes off. He was smoking.

“Well, here you are,” was the mountaineer's greeting. “I was sorter sleepy, but I wanted to hear what you done, so I run down an' got me a nickel cigar. Then I've put in my time watchin' the folks in the street. I'll be dadblasted ef thar ain't as many night-hawks on the wing now as thar was jest after supper.”

Nelson threw off his coat and hat and sat down and recounted briefly all that had taken place at Floyd's, Pole smoking thoughtfully the while. When Nelson ceased speaking Pole rose and began to undress.

“So the blamed old codger talked like he wasn't goin' to draw the money, eh?” he said. “Well, that sorter upsets me; I can't exactly make it out, Nelson. I'll have to think that over. It ain't what I expected him to do. I thought he'd pounce on it like a duck on a June-bug. No, that's quar, I tell you—powerful quar!”

They had been in bed perhaps two hours and Floyd was asleep, when something waked him and he lay still, listening. Then, looking through the darkness, he saw Pole sitting on the edge of his bed, his feet on the floor.

“It ain't no use,” Floyd heard him muttering; “I can't sleep—thar ain't no good in tryin'.”

“What's the reason you can't sleep?” Floyd asked, suddenly.

“Oh!” Pole exclaimed, “I didn't know you was awake. I heard you breathin' deep an' natural jest a minute ago.”

“But why can't you sleep?” Floyd repeated.

“I don't know, Nelson,” Pole answered, sheepishly. “Don't you bother. Turn over an' git yore rest. I reckon I'm studyin' too much. Thar's nothin' on earth that will keep a feller awake like studyin'. I hain't closed my eyes. I've been lyin' here wonderin' an' wonderin' why that old cuss didn't want to take that money.”

“Why, he simply didn't feel like accepting it from a—a stranger and a man he had treated coldly, and perhaps too severely, on a former meeting. You see, he felt unworthy—”

“Unworthy hell! That ain't it—you kin bet yore socks that ain't it! Thatsorto' man, in the hole he's in, ain't a-goin' to split hairs like that, when he's on the brink o' ruin an' ready to commit suicide. No, siree, you'll have to delve deeper into human nature than that. Looky' here, Nelson. I'm on to a certain thing to-night fer the fust time. Why didn't you tell me before this that Henry A. Floyd got his start in life by a plantation left him by his daddy?”

“Why, I thought you knew it!” Floyd said, sleepily. “But what's that got to do with his not wanting to take the money?”

“I don't know,” Pole said. “I'll have to study on it. You turn over an' git that nap out. Yo're a-yawnin' fit to bust that night-shirt.”

IT was about eight o'clock the next morning when Floyd waked. The first thing he saw was Pole seated in the window chewing tobacco. He was fully dressed, had shaved, and wore a new white shirt and collar that glistened like porcelain in the morning sun; he had on also a new black cravat which he had tied very clumsily.

“Good gracious, have you been waiting for me?” Floyd cried, as he sprang out of bed and looked at his watch.

“Not much I hain't,” the mountaineer smiled. “I was up at my usual time, at sunrise. I struck a restaurant and got me some fried eggs an' coffee, an' then walked half over this dern town.”

“Well, I'm sorry you've had your breakfast,” Floyd said, “for I wanted you to go down with me.”

“No, thankee”—Pole shrugged his shoulders and smiled—“I tried that last night in yore place, an' thar was so many niggers in burial suits standin' round that big room that it looked like resurrection day in a coon graveyard. The damned idiots stared at me as ef they thought I'd blowed in off'n a load o' hay. They passed me from one to t'other like coals o' fire on a shovel till they landed me in a corner whar nobody wouldn't see me.”

Floyd laughed. “You are all right, Pole; don't you ever let that fact escape you.”

“Do you think so, Nelson? Well, anyway, a biggity nigger waiter tried to take me down once when I was here, about a year ago. I'd heard a good deal o' talk about that fine eatin'-room down the street whar only the big Ikes git the'r grub, an', wantin' a snack, I drapped in an' hung up my hat. The head coon tuck me to a table whar some other fellows was eatin', an' another one made me a present of a handkerchief an' shoved a card under my nose. The card had lots o' Dutch on it, an' I was kinder flustered, but as the nigger looked like he understood our language, I told 'im to never mind the printin' but to fetch me two fried eggs an' a cup o' coffee an' free bread, ef he had it, an' ef not to charge it in the bill. Well, sir, after I'd give the order, the coon still stood thar, tryin' his level best to turn up his flat nose; so I axed 'im what he was waitin' fer, an' he sneered an' axed me ef that was all I expected to eat. I told 'im it was, an', with a grin at the coon at the next table, he shuffled off. Well, you know, I was hot under the collar, an' I seed that the other men at the table looked like they was with me, though they didn't chip in. Purty soon my waiter come back with my order, an', with a sniff, he set it down. It looked like he thought jest to be a lackey in a fine house like that was next to wearin' wings an' flyin' over golden streets. He axed me ag'in ef that was all I wanted, an' when I said it was he give another sniff, an' drawed out a pad an' writ down twenty-five cents on it in great big figures, an' tore off the leaf an' drapped it in front o' my plate. 'Mighty small bill,' he said. 'Yes,' said I, 'that order 'ud 'a' cost fifty cents in afust-classplace, but I was busy an' didn't have time to go any furder.' Well, sir, them men in front o' me jest hollered. They banged on the table with the'r knives an' plates, an' yelled till everybody in the room stood up to see what was the matter. One big, fat, jolly-faced man with a red, bushy mustache in front of me re'ched his paw clean across the table an' said: 'Put 'er thar, white man; damn it, put 'er thar!' I tuck a drink with 'im when we went out. He tried to buy me a five-dollar hat to remember 'im by, but I wouldn't take it.”

Floyd laughed heartily. He had finished dressing. “Did you finally get it settled in your mind, Pole, why that old man didn't want to take my check last night?”

“Thar's a lots o' things I've got to git settled in my mind,” was the somewhat evasive reply. “I told you I was goin' to take the ten-thirty train fer Darley, but I ain't a-goin' a step till I've seed a little furder into this business. Looky' here, Nelson Floyd, fer a man that's had as much dealin's with men in all sorts o' ways as you have, you are a-actin' quar.”

“I don't understand you.” Floyd had put his hand on the latch to open the door, but, seeing his friend's serious face, he went back to the window wondering what Pole was driving at.

“You say,” said Pole, “that Henry A. Floyd came into his plantation at his daddy's death?”

“That's my impression, Pole.”

The mountaineer went to the cuspidor near the washstand and spat deliberately into it; then he came back wiping his lips on his long hand.

“An' when the old man died he jest had two sons—yore daddy an' this one here?” Pole said, tentatively, his heavy brows drawn together.

“Yes, that's right, Pole.”

“Well, Nelson”—the mountaineer was staring steadily at his friend—“I make a rule never to judge a person too quick, but whar I see a motive fer evil in a man that ain't plumb straight, I generally find some'n' crooked.”

“I'm sure I don't understand you, Pole,” Floyd said, his eyes wide in curiosity.

Pole stepped near to Floyd and laid his hand on his arm.

“Do you mean to tell me, as keen and sharp as you are, that you tuck that old skunk's word about a matter as important as that is, when he come into property from yore granddaddy—property that 'ud be part yore'n as his brother's son? Shucks! I'm jest a mountain scrub, but I ain't as big a fool as that.

“Oh, I know!” said Floyd, wearily. “I suppose you are right, but I don't care to go to law about a little handful of property like that; besides, you know it would be my interestonlyin case I was alawfulheir—don't forget that damnable fact, Pole.”

“I'm not thinkin' about the value of property, nuther,” said Baker; “but, my boy, I am lookin' fer amotive—a motive fer rascality, an' I think I've found one as big as a barn. I don't any more believe that dirty tale old Floyd told you than I'd believe it about my old saint of a mother.”

“But you don't know what he showed me, Pole,” Floyd sighed. “I never had the heart to go over it thoroughly, but it was conclusive enough to draw a black curtain over my whole life.”

“I don't care, Nelson,” Pole said, warmly. “I don't give a damn what he said, or showed you. Thar's a big, rotten stench in Denmark, I'm here to tell you; an' ef I don't squeeze the truth out o' that old turnip before night I'll eat my hat. You go on an' git yore breakfast, an' let me map out—”

There was rap on the door. Floyd opened it. A negro porter in uniform stood on the threshold.

“A man down-stairs wants to see you, Mr. Floyd,” he announced.

“Did he give his name?” Nelson asked.

“No, sir, he didn't.”

“He's an old, white-headed, dingy-faced fellow, ain't he?” Pole put in.

“Yes, sir,” answered the servant. “He looks like he's sick.”

“Well, you tell 'im to come up here,” said Pole, his face rigid, and his eyes gleaming triumphantly. When the negro had gone the two friends stood facing each other. “Nelson, my boy,” Pole said, tremulously, “I'm goin' to stroll outside down the hall. I'd bet a full-blooded Kentucky mare to a five-cent ginger-cake that you can run this whole rotten business up a tree if you will play your cards exactly right. Looky' here, Nelson, I've changed my mind about goin' out o' this room. Thar's entirely too much at stake to leave you with the reins to hold. You are too touchy on a certain delicate subject—you'll take a lot o' guff rather than ask questions. I wish you'd go out and let me meet that man fust.”

“I'll do anything you suggest, Pole,” Floyd declared, his face twitching sensitively.

“Well, you skoot into that empty room next door. I seed it open when I come up. Let me have the old codger to myself fer jest five minutes and then I'll turn 'im over to you. Hurry up! I don't want 'im to see you here.”

Floyd acted instantly, Pole heard the door of the adjoining room close just as the elevator stopped at the floor they were on.

“Good,” he ejaculated. He threw himself back in a chair and had just picked up a newspaper when old Floyd cautiously peered in at the half-open door.

“Come in, come in, Mr. Floyd,” Pole said, cordially. “Early bird, ain't you?”

“They told me Mr. Floyd was here,” the old man said, awkwardly, as he stepped inside and glanced around the room. He was, in the open daylight, even paler and more despondent-looking than he had appeared the previous evening. In his hand he held Nelson's check folded and clutched tightly.

“He's jest gone out,” Pole said, indicating a chair, “set down; he'll be back here in a minute.”

“I—I thought he was up here alone,” the old man stammered.

“Oh, it don't make no difference,” Pole smiled, easily, “me'n' Nelson's jest like two brothers. You see, what one knows the other does. The truth is, me'n' him work together, Mr. Floyd, an' I've been investigatin' that case about his mammy an' daddy fer sometime. I run the whole thing down yesterday, an' come in an' told 'im about it last night after he'd got back from yore house. By gum! the boy broke down an' cried like a child fer pure joy. It would 'a' done you good to 'a' seed 'im. That was an' awfully nasty thing fer a proud young sperit to stand up under, an' you bet gittin' it off was a relief.”

“You mean—” The old man sank heavily into a chair, but he could go no further. He stared helplessly into Pole's inscrutable face, and then his shifting eyes fell guiltily.

“Why, you see,” Pole smiled, plausibly; “all I wanted was a clew to start from, an' after nosin' about whar Nelson's daddy had lived I at last discovered that he was part heir to that property o' yore'n, then, you see, the whole shootin'-match was as clear as a wart on the side of my own nose. The next discovery was the marriage record, an' then I had the whole thing in apple-pie order. You needn't set thar an' look scared out o' yore skin, Mr. Floyd. Nelson 'ud have his right arm sawed off at the shoulder-joint rather'n prosecute you. He told me last night that he'd stand by you. He's got money to burn, an' he'll never let his daddy's brother suffer. He told me jest this mornin'—'Pole,' said he, 'I don't believe Uncle Henry would 'a' kept this back so long ef he hadn't been mighty nigh out o' his head with his own troubles.”

“God knows I wouldn't! God knows that!” sobbed the old man, impulsively. “I meant to tell him the truth the day I met you and told you he was my nephew, but I had a sick spell, and I got to worrying about the little all I had for my old age. I thought you were prying into matters, too, and knew that any question about the titles would make my creditors jump on me, and—”

“I see, I see!” said Pole. Indifference was in his voice, but his rugged face was afire, his great, eager eyes were illumined by a blaze of triumph. “I reckon the proof you showed him was forgery, Mr. Floyd, but of a harmless kind that most any man in trouble naturally would—”

“No, those letters were not forgeries,” broke in the old man. “They were really my brother's, but they related to his life with another woman. When their child died, she deserted him for another man. My brother came home broken-hearted, but he finally got over it, and married a nice girl of good family. She was Nelson's mother. In my great trouble, and facing ruin, it struck me that the letters would convince the boy and he would keep quiet and not put in a claim until—until I could see my way out—but now, you say he knows it all.”

“Yes, an' is so happy over it, Mr. Floyd, that instead o' givin' you trouble, he'll throw his arms around you. God bless you, old hoss, you've been denyin' the finest member yore family ever had. I reckon you can turn over to him sufficient proof”—Pole drew himself up with a start—“proof, I mean, that will, you see, sort o' splice in with all I've run up on—proof that he is legally yore nephew.”

“Oh, plenty!” the old man said, almost eagerly; “and I'll get it up at once. I've brought his check back,” he unfolded it and held it in his quivering hands. “I couldn't take money from him after treating him as I have.”

Pole laughed outright. “You keep that check, old man,” he said. “Nelson Floyd will cram it down yore throat ef you won't take it any other way. I tell you he's jest tickled to death. He thinks the world and all of you because you are the only kin he ever laid eyes on. Now, you stay right whar you are an' I'll send 'im to you. He's not fur off.”

Hurrying into the next room, Pole saw Floyd standing at a window looking out into the street, a touch of his old despondency on him. He caught Pole's triumphant smile and stood with lips parted in suspense.

“It's jest as I told you, my boy,” the mountaineer said, with a chuckle. “He's owned up to the whole blasted thing. You've got as good a right to vote in America as any man in it.”

“Good God, Pole, you don't mean—”

“You go in thar an' he'll tell you all about it.” Pole continued to smile.

“You say he has actually confessed of his own accord?” Floyd cried, incredulously.

“Well, Ididsorter have to lead 'im along a little,” Pole laughed. “To unlock his jaws, I told 'im me 'n' you already knowed the facts, so you might as well take that stand, give 'im plenty o' rope an' let 'im tell you all about it. But don't be hard on 'im, Nelson; the pore old cuss wanted to do the fair thing but was pressed to the wall by circumstances an' devilish men.”

“Thank God, Pole, thank God!” Floyd cried. “I can hardly believe it's true.”

“Well, it is, all right enough,” Baker assured him. “Now, I'm goin' to catch the ten-thirty train. I want to git home before you do, an' git this thing circulated—so nobody won't snub you an' feel bad about it afterwards. I'll strike old Mrs. Snodgrass the fust thing. She is editor of theHill-top Whirlwind, an' will have an extra out ten minutes after I land containin' full particulars. Fer once I'm goin' to put her to a good use. She'll certainly make the rounds, an' as I don't want the old thing to walk 'er props off, I'll lend 'er a hoss. But I'll tell you what I'd like fer you to do, Nelson, an' I almost ax it as a favor.”

“What's that, Pole?”

“Why, I want you to take that old chap under yore wing to-day an' git 'im out o' the clutch o' them shyster lawyers that's got 'im scared to death.”

“You may rest assured that I'll do that,” Floyd said, as he hurried away.

A moment later, as Pole was passing Nelson's room to reach the main stairway, he glanced through the open door. Old Floyd sat with bowed head, wiping his eyes on his handkerchief, and his nephew stood by him, his hand resting on his shoulder.

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