Читать книгу The Mystery of Cleverly - Barton George Aaron - Страница 4

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When Herbert Harkins reached home he found that the story of his battle with Arthur Black had preceded him. His mother was at the doorway awaiting his arrival. She scanned his face anxiously.

“Are you hurt, Herbert?” she asked.

“Not a great deal, mother,” he said, with a trace of conscious pride in his voice; “but I can’t say as much for the other fellow.”

“I was sorry to hear that you were quarreling,” she remarked gravely; “it’s not gentlemanly.”

“But I could not let the other boys think I was a coward,” he cried quickly.

His mother made no reply to this, but pointing toward the sitting room, said simply:

“Your father is waiting to see you.”

Herbert started up the stairway, filled with misgivings. It was a rare thing for his father to send for him, and the serious manner in which his mother had delivered the message convinced him that it must be a matter of importance. David Harkins was above everything else a just man. He had started out in life with bright prospects, but through a series of misfortunes over which he had no control, his little fortune had been very much reduced and his health greatly impaired.

His doctor advised him to go into the country and engage in open air work as much as possible. He cautioned him above all else to avoid the occasions of excitement. The medical man assured him that his heart was weak, and that it would not stand any severe or unusual strain. Mr. Harkins examined various properties in the vicinity of the city, and finally decided upon the neat little place at Cleverly. It contained a garden and was within a reasonable distance of the city whence Mr. Harkins’ employment called him several times a week. In the meantime he cultivated the garden, and by dint of close economy managed to make both ends meet. Mr. Harkins was engaged in looking over some papers when Herbert entered the room. He laid them down immediately and turned to the boy with a look in which affection and reproach were mingled.

“Herbert, I hear bad reports about you.”

“I’m sorry for that, father,” was the response, “because I don’t believe I deserve them.”

Mr. Harkins glanced at Herbert keenly, and the look which he received in return seemed to satisfy him, for he said:

“Tell me in your own way all about this quarrel—give me all the details, and do not attempt to hide anything.”

Herbert told everything clearly and quickly. As he concluded his father nodded his head as if to indicate that he understood and then sighed deeply. Herbert noticed this, and said with trembling voice:

“You believe me, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Don’t you think I did right?”

“I do.”

“But why are you so sad?”

“Because I regret this thing very much—because I am sorry you quarreled with Arthur Black.”

“But you said I was justified.”

“I did; but unfortunately you have offended a powerful man. I suppose you are old enough to understand these things. John Black, Arthur’s father, is not only the richest man in Cleverly, but he is the president of the bank, and I—I owe him money.”

David Harkins put his head in his hands as he spoke, and leaning on his desk, sat there for some time buried in thought. Herbert was silent for awhile, then rushing up to his father, cried out impulsively:

“I’m awfully sorry, father; I didn’t intend to do anything wrong. I never thought of injuring you. If I can repair the damage in any way I’ll be only too glad to do so. Tell me what to do.”

“Do,” cried his father, with a sudden return of his natural dignity; “why do nothing; you are guilty of no wrong and have nothing to regret. However,” with a sigh which he could not conceal, “I’m sure we will hear more about this before the evening is over.”

And so they did. About eight o’clock that night there was a loud rapping at the door, and a stout, pompous man was ushered into the parlor. He had iron gray hair, heavy bristling eyebrows and scowled in the most severe manner. He looked about the little room in a disdainful manner, and then dropped abruptly into the easiest chair at hand. His manner was aggressive. He carried a heavy cane and pounded it on the floor impatiently while awaiting the arrival of Mr. Harkins.

Such was John Black, bank president, capitalist and the most unpopular man in Cleverly.

“See here, Harkins,” he cried out abruptly as Herbert’s father entered the room, “I came to see you about that boy of yours.”

“What about him?” asked Mr. Harkins quietly.

“A great deal about him,” spluttered the banker, “he’s a young rowdy; that’s what he is. He set on my boy Arthur at school to-day and beat him in the most brutal manner.”

“A boys’ fight?” queried Herbert’s father lifting his eyebrows.

“You may call it a boys’ fight,” thundered the other; “I call it an outrage. Why that child of mine came home with his nose bleeding—do you understand sir—with his nose bleeding.”

“That child as you call him,” ventured Mr. Harkins, a note of amusement in his voice, “is, I believe, nearly seventeen years old.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” shouted the other.

“Nothing, except that he’s nearly two years older than my boy.”

“Age is not the only thing—”

“No,” interrupted Mr. Harkins, “weight should be considered. Arthur is not only older, but he is much heavier than Herbert.”

“Do you mean to say,” exclaimed the banker in amazement, “that you are taking up for that boy?”

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Harkins pleasantly, “that’s not necessary. Herbert seems to be fully capable of taking up for himself.”

“Take care, Harkins,” said the rich man, banging his cane angrily on the floor; “take care; don’t attempt to trifle with me!”

David Harkins paid no attention to this outburst, but sat silent wondering what would come next. His curiosity was soon satisfied.

John Black arose with a gesture of impatience.

“There is no need of my wasting any more time here,” he exclaimed. “I came over to give you a chance to set yourself straight.”

“To set myself straight?” queried Harkins.

“Yes; if you have that boy of yours apologize to Arthur at school to-morrow, we’ll call it quits.”

David Harkins stood looking at the banker as if he had taken leave of his senses. The silence lasted so long that it became embarrassing.

“Come, come, what do you say to my proposal?” asked John Black. “I don’t want to be too hard on your young one. Do as I say and the matter will drop. Your answer.”

“No!” shouted Harkins. “No; a hundred times no! Herbert did perfectly right in thrashing that bully of a son of yours. I’m proud of him for doing it. And if he would dare to apologize for it I’d disown him as a son.”

John Black grew almost livid with rage. He hurried to the door. When he reached it he looked back and shook his cane at Harkins.

“You will regret this insult; blast you, I’ll make you sorry for what you said.”

Mrs. Harkins entered the room just as the banker retired. She hurried over to her husband.

“I heard loud voices, David,” she said. “I am sorry you quarreled with Mr. Black.”

Her husband looked at her fondly. His face was pale, although he was smiling.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said; “but he irritated me beyond endurance. Besides I told him the truth. Between ourselves,” he added, “I’m really proud of Herbert.”

“But you must not tell that to Herbert,” she said anxiously; “it might be the means of spoiling him.”

“Oh, never fear, I won’t tell him; but I won’t be unjust to the boy either. I’ll deal fairly with him.”

Indeed, as has already been indicated, a love of justice was one of the most striking traits of David Harkins’ character, and unconsciously he was doing all in his power to plant the same virtue in the mind and heart of his only son.

“In spite of what you say, David,” remarked Mrs. Harkins, “I regret this incident. I do not believe in signs or any nonsense of that sort, but some strange voice within me says that this thing will have a fatal ending.”

“Oh, cheer up,” was the bright response of the husband. “It’s folly to look on the dark side of life. Anyhow, what will be, must be. All that we can do in this life is to try and live decently. A friend of mine used to say that it was a good thing always to hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”

With this bit of philosophy Mr. Harkins turned to his desk and resumed his work. As his wife closed the door, however, the cheerful look left his face, and lines of care and worry began to appear. Despite his protests to the contrary, he regretted his encounter with John Black. But his sense of right and justice was too acute to permit him to make peace at the price of truth.

While he was thinking over the events of the day, there was a ring of the door-bell, and in a moment Mrs. Harkins appeared to present Mr. Horace Coke, the lawyer of Cleverly and one of the good friends of the family. Mr. Coke was one of the old fashioned attorneys at law. He wore a suit of black broadcloth and carried a cane and a high silk hat in his hand. He had a smooth, round face, was always in a good humor, loved children and dogs, and lived in constant peace and harmony with his friends and neighbors.

Mr. Harkins hastened to give him the most comfortable chair in the room, and Mrs. Harkins, who had remained, waited expectantly to hear the occasion of the visit. The visitor stroked his chin in an absent-minded way and seemed ill at ease. He was not smiling either, which was a strange thing for Horace Coke. Presently he said abruptly:

“It’s a lovely evening Dave, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Harkins, “it is a lovely evening.”

But he knew in his heart that the lawyer had not called to make this useless comment on the weather. He knew that something more important was to come, so he sat silent and waited.

“Dave,” said the lawyer, clearing his throat, “I’m here on a very, very unpleasant errand. It was in the line of my professional duty though, and I couldn’t get out of it.”

“Indeed,” was the non-committal reply.

“No,” pursued Mr. Coke, “you see I am here representing a client.”

“Might I ask the name of your client?”

“Yes; it is John Black.”

Mr. Harkins started as he heard this name. It was not altogether unexpected, yet the sound gave him an uncomfortable feeling. Mrs. Harkins, too, was very much depressed by the announcement. Herbert had entered the room quietly during the conversation; but when he heard what Mr. Coke had said, he paused at the threshold.

“Well,” said Mr. Harkins finally, “what about Mr. Black?”

“It seems,” replied the lawyer, “that you have had a financial transaction with Mr. Black.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That he has your note for one thousand dollars.”

“That is correct.”

“Well, Mr. Black sends me here to collect it.”

“Mr. Coke, isn’t this a rather unusual method of doing business? I borrowed this money from Mr. Black at the bank to pay off the mortgage on my house. I understood that it was to run for several years, although we had no written agreement regarding the time. But I never heard of a banker sending a lawyer to collect a note.”

“It is unusual,” confessed the lawyer, “but Mr. Black has the legal right to do it if he sees fit. He says the endorsers of the note are no good and he instructs me, if payment is not made within twenty-four hours, to proceed against you.”

He arose to go. As he reached the door he turned and said:

“Dave, I don’t think this is a square deal; but I’m only acting as a lawyer for a client. If I had the money to spare, I’d give it to you myself.”

He said good-night and departed. Mrs. Harkins turned to her husband.

“Can you meet this demand, Dave?”

He looked at her in a strained sort of way. It was a half minute before he spoke. He said simply:

“I haven’t the faintest idea where I am going to get the money.”