CHAPTER V.
THE MAN WITH ONE EYE.
Charley Barker was up at daylight next day, and after washing the blood from Tony's face, which was much cut and disfigured, he hurried off to Swanny to acquaint him with the good news.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Marsh had gone to bed at all, for they were mourning the loss of their darling, and, on being admitted to the house, Charley at once acquainted them with what had occurred.
They could scarcely believe in the reality of such joyful tidings, but started immediately for the undertaker's.
Mr. Barker, as we have said, was a rough-and-ready, fiery sort of man, who at times did not attempt to restrain his temper.
The father and mother had gone alone to his house, as Charley had stayed behind to talk with Swanny.
It was about seven o'clock, and Barker was not up.
When he heard a furious ringing at his bell he jumped out of bed in a passion, saying to his wife, who was also aroused by the noise:
"I'll teach those fools, whoever they are, not to ring my bell as if the house was on fire, dern me if I don't!"
Advancing to the window, he threw it open, and his temper was not improved by the rush of cold air, which struck a chill to his bones after leaving his nice, warm bed a moment before.
"Be-low!" he shouted. "What in thunder do you want?"
The tassel of his nightcap fluttered in the cold blast, and particles of the crisp, frozen snow flew up in his face.
"Give me my child," replied Mr. Marsh.
"Oh, it's you, Marsh," said the undertaker, in a milder tone. "What's the use of asking for the body so early? You'll have it in a neat casket about the middle of the day. I can't work at night, besides, I didn't know you were in such an all-fired hurry."
"It isn't the body we want, it's the child."
"Comes to the same thing, and you've got to wait."
"Open the door and let us in."
"No, I'm derned if I do. Come at a proper time," growled the undertaker.
"For Heaven's sake, take pity on us!" cried Mrs. Marsh. "Will not a mother's tears move you?"
"Not by a bucketful, marm."
"If you don't give up Tony, I'll get a warrant and haveyou arrested," roared Mr. Marsh. "Aren't you an inhuman scoundrel? Want to kill him, I guess, for fear you'll lose the job."
"Kill him! What do you mean? Oh, pshaw, you're both crazy!" replied Barker, in a tone of deep disgust. "Go home, and don't come fooling around here no more."
"Look here, Barker," exclaimed Mr. Marsh, "I'll——"
His further utterance was cut short by the sudden and violent slamming of the window by the irate undertaker, who, after consigning the interrupters of his repose to perdition, crept once more into bed, and pulling the clothes round his cold shoulders, prepared to sleep again.
At this moment Charley and Swanny came running up.
"Won't dad let you in?" asked Charley.
"No," replied Mr. Marsh. "This is an outrage. I shall go for an officer."
"Don't do nothing of the sort. Come in with me at the back door. Pop ain't to blame; he don't know anything about the stiff coming to life," answered Charley.
The rage of Mr. and Mrs. Marsh moderated at once, and they followed their conductor into the house through the rear. Presently they were overjoyed at seeing their darling.
Barker was roused, everything was explained, and Tony was carried home by his anxious parents.
Tommy also sought his domicile, finding his father and mother in the kitchen.
"If that boy takes to stopping out nights," he heard Mr. Smithers say, "he can stay away altogether, for what I care."
"You forget," replied his mother, "that it was your injustice and ungovernable temper that drove him out."
"He's such a fool, madam."
"Can he help being a little soft? Besides, he's quite young yet."
At this juncture Tommy came forward.
"Here I am, mother," he said.
"Where have you been, sir?" demanded Mr. Smithers.
Tommy related the incidents of the night, which were pronounced to be very wonderful.
"Well, I'll overlook it this time," said his stepfather; "but don't let it happen again, or I'll take you into the woodshed and welt you considerable."
Mrs. Smithers caught him in her arms, crying:
"Oh, my darling! I should never have got over it if you had been buried in that coffin."
"Here, stop that blubbering!" exclaimed Smithers. "Give me another cup of coffee; I must be off, or I'll be late at the store!" And soon after he hastened off to the ferry.
There was a ring at the bell. Mrs. Smithers dried her tears, and added:
"See who that is."
Tommy opened the door, and a man, poorly dressed, with a worn expression on his face, which was weather-beaten and battered, stood on the stoop.
What made him more remarkable was the fact that he had only one eye. No attempt was made to conceal the defect, which might have been remedied by one of glass, and the vacant space made him look even more homely and ghastly.
"Does Mrs. Smithers reside here?" he inquired, in a voice harsh and hoarse through drink and exposure to the weather.
"Yes," replied Tommy.
At this moment Mrs. Smithers raised her head, took one long look at the stranger, and uttering a piercing shriek, would have fallen to the ground had not Tommy rushed forward and supported her with his arm.
The man with one eye smiled grimly, and showing no outward concern, stepped into the house, closing the door after him.
"Let go," he said. "Where's the parlor?"
"That door to the left," answered Tommy.
"Open it."
Mrs. Smithers had fainted, but the stranger took her in his arms as if she had been a child.
"What's your game?" asked Tommy. "That's my mother."
"I know it," was the calm reply.
"Don't touch her, you dirty-looking tramp!" continued Tommy. "How dare you?"
"Because I am your father, and she is my wife."
At this remarkable and unexpected reply, Tommy opened his eyes wide in amazement.
"Thought my father was dead?" he said.
"No matter what any of you thought, I am alive and I am here. Open the door."
There was an air of authority about this man who claimed to be the Mr. Thompson whom Mrs. Smithers had first married, and Tommy no longer refused to obey him.
He opened the door of the room in which a good fire was burning, and the stranger carried the woman in, laying her on a sofa, and chafing her hands so as to circulate the blood and restore her to consciousness.
Tommy could scarcely realize the fact that this rough, ragged and ugly man was the father of whom he had heard his mother speak so often.
Young as he was when his father went West—only todie, as was reported and supposed—he remembered a very different sort of person.
In the course of a few minutes, during which Tommy remained standing near the closed door, in an awestruck sort of manner, Mrs. Smithers became herself again.
Her mind was clear, and the passing faintness having gone away, she looked the stranger in the face.
"Thomas," she said, softly, "what is the meaning of this? I heard from one of your friends that you were dead."
"All thought me so," he answered. "I was in a wild part of the country, where I had gone to make money for you and our child——"
A sickly smile overspread her delicate countenance.
"You left me to starve, and the child, too," she interrupted.
"Let that be as it may," he rejoined, "I went away. You can put what construction you like on my actions."
"Well, go on," she said, in a tone of resignation.
"I'll admit," he continued, "that I was a drunkard and a gambler; but I wasn't that when I left you. I intended to do you good. A barroom quarrel nearly resulted in my death. I was badly shot, badly kicked and lost one of my eyes."
Mrs. Smithers covered her face with her hands, as ifshe could conjure up the horrible scene and wished to shut it out.
"How have you been living since?" she asked.
"Heaven only knows. A friendly Indian took care of me till I got well, and then I waited till I could get square with my enemy."
"And he?"
"I slew him as I would a dog," said the man, Thompson. "He begged for his life like a whining girl, but I had him in a tight place, and he died by my hand."
"Horrible!" she muttered.
"Not at all. Didn't he disfigure me? I tell you that out West we consider ourselves entitled to satisfaction in cases of this kind."
"Why did you come here, Thomas?"
"To see you. I found out that you had married again, and knowing that you were my property, I thought I could make something out of you."
"Your property?" she repeated.
"Why, certainly. Does not a wife belong to her husband?"
Mrs. Smithers groaned.
"Do you wish to destroy me?" She asked.
"Oh, dear, no! I'll own up that you made a mistake in marrying me—that I was always a bad husband, andthat you were better without than with me. Further than that, I will confess that I don't blame you for taking the first chance that offered after you heard of my death, because you had to keep yourself and the child."
"Then why persecute me, Thomas?" inquired Mrs. Smithers, raising her moist eyes to his.
"Simply because I think that I can get something out of you. I am poor; 'dead broke' won't express my condition."
"And if you can levy blackmail upon me, you will be satisfied?"
"For a time, yes."