Fighting Byng Part 25

"Howard, no really big, useful man can afford to harbor even thoughts of revenge or bear malice or hatred toward anyone. But you have a right, in fact it is a duty, to hate the h.e.l.lish or the evil in anyone."

"I see the distinction--go ahead." His eyelids twitched nervously.

"Now I'm going to put to the test your Southern blood--the vital Georgia Cracker blood that has carried you through and brought you out on top. You have just told me you still hate, fiercely hate, this man Ramund?"

"Yes--yes--he destroyed my home, he ruined me--he----"

"Howard," I interrupted, "I know he violated every law of the decalog--but can't you think he has been pretty well punished?

Everything now indicates that he will forfeit his hundred thousand bail and never return. You and I know a suitable, fearful punishment has been inflicted, and I glory with you, but what I am getting at is that you ought to hate his acts and everything he represents, but not the man himself. To hate any man is distinctly corroding and exceedingly harmful."

Howard did not reply but struggled with the fire within.

"And now that leads to a more important subject: Have you ever tried--have you ever thought of trying to find little Jim's mother?" I asked slowly, looking straight in his eyes, in fierce combat with the man's colossal will.

He did not reply at once, but slowly it came to him that he must reply.

"I--I--no!" he hesitated, I believe for the moment burning with resentment at the question. "I have closed the book in which it is written and locked it forever. I can see no possible good in even recalling it," he added, softening slightly.

"Howard, that's the point. This is going to be the crucial test between you and me, even after all these years. Now, let us think for a moment to see if you have not yet duties to perform--to yourself, duties to her, and, more, to little Jim. Howard, as far as money goes, I know you are well fixed--again. I saw you pay nearly a million dollars for your old property, and get it for about half-price, with no more effort than for me to buy a half dozen collars, and that brings----"

"But, Wood," he interrupted, and without resentment, "I don't believe you fully understand. I saw--waking and sane--I saw her unresisting in that man's arms receiving his lascivious caresses and kisses. Wood, at that moment I would give all I paid for that property this morning, if I could recall the slightest gesture of resentment, and for a sign or groan of agony at the ravis.h.i.+ng insult and indignity. I would give every cent I have or shall ever earn in my life. But my ears, whetted to the keenness of the hearing of fifty men combined, detected not the slightest protest," he ended, his powerful body trembling and shocked at even recalling the distressing incident of fifteen years ago.

"But--dismissing that phase of it, can you still escape responsibility? When you sat here with me the last time, you were intensely happy in the possession of her love and tender care, and had been for some time. Then she bore your child, she is the mother of little Jim. As a common debt of grat.i.tude for this are you not bound now to find her and see that she is made comfortable and not in want?

You owe, actually owe her in money value this much, as the mother of little Jim."

I halted in order that my words might sink deep before speaking again.

"And, Howard, something more important, you give me credit for starting you out of the pine woods. Maybe I did, but during the time you loved and was happy with her, she did more to develop the man in you than I could do in a thousand years. To overlook this is ungrateful; plain, simple ingrat.i.tude."

It was the first time I ever saw tears in Howard Byng's eyes, big tears. His mouth twitched and he swallowed hard.

"Wood," he finally began, struggling manfully to control himself, "it may be you are right. I think you are. I should provide for her, but I don't know how to go about it. And--and there have been times lately when I have thought I was too harsh and uncompromising, but facts are pungent, bristling things no matter how much you might wish otherwise." This came in such manner from the bigness of the man that I grasped his hand eagerly.

"G.o.d bless you, Howard! I am busy, every man with red blood in our nation is busy, but I will undertake to learn something about her. You go back to Georgia. Our nation needs every ounce of turpentine and rosin you can make and needs them badly, as well as the paper and cotton. Go down there and make things hum for Uncle Sam and I will see what can be done. Also I will see little Jim. I believe I can overcome your difficulties there."

CHAPTER XXIX

As I suggested, Howard took Don, the old darkey, and hurried off to Georgia to put his reacquired property in working shape, utilizing the waste stumps, and cleaning the best cotton land in the world. His parting injunction was that he would return on an hour's notice, and for me to see little Jim as soon as I could find time. He would spend Christmas with her, as he had from infancy taught her the significance of it and had never failed to celebrate. He wanted her to be very happy that day.

I met Charlie Haines. He was still chasing moons.h.i.+ners. I asked him if he had heard anything lately of Mrs. Byng. I knew he would easily recall her.

"Only once, Wood," he replied. "I believe she was on her way to Europe--to study. But for the life of me I can't recall just what--music, I think. That was--let me see--yes, it was a year or two before the war began and she may have been stuck there. No, she had not married, and I wonder why. I believe she was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. She was simply wonderful."

In a day or two I started out to see little Jim. I had to coach her for the witness stand and make good my promise to Howard.

I had been losing sleep and decided to go in the chair car and have a couple hours' rest while riding, and for the first time I got a full view of myself in the big mirror in the end of the car. I was quite unable to recognize myself, and wondered how the change would affect little Jim.

You know it seems a belief among persons who should have better sense that men in our work can make a lightning change by the use of false beards, wigs and the like, when, as a matter of fact, such flimsy attempts to camouflage exist only in the poor minds of story writers and can be practiced only on the stage and in the movies; in life such a thing would be an advertis.e.m.e.nt. Even a wig is so rare that it attracts instant attention, and is utterly useless as a disguise.

When it seems necessary to make a change in our appearance it takes from two to three months, and as I had been undergoing such a change preparatory for something special it was a wonder Howard recognized me. It was a distinct shock when I saw myself in the mirror at the end of the car, from head to shoes.

My red wire-gra.s.s had been clipped to the skin and a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat of a Quaker or Mennonite planted there. My beard had grown like weeds until I had a three-inch brush on my face, with the exception of my shaven upper lip. A limp, white s.h.i.+rt, celluloid collar and black tie, and a black Prince Albert covered my bones well below my s.h.i.+ns, where baggy black trousers joined rough brogans laced with leather strings. Anyone could recognize in me a mountebank medicine vender, a lying horse trader or horse thief--there is not much difference between the two--or leader of some crazy religious cult, a Greenwich Village Bolsheviki or anyone who at first sight could be depended on to be tricky and irrational on serious things.

I was afraid little Jim would not recognize me. She had developed wonderfully fast, and with a sense of humor was able to recall her first experience with me as a salesman of s.h.i.+p chandlery. When they sent her to me in the private office of the registrar it was hard to tell who was the more surprised. She hesitated at the door with a delightful navette, thinking some mistake had been made when she first saw me.

"Come in, little Jim, I want to see you."

Her face changed to mystified interest, as she closed the door and came toward me, trying her best to recognize a familiar voice who knew her as little Jim.

"It cannot be--yes, it is--oh, it is you, Mr. Wood. I never would have known you without hearing your voice," she said, giving me her hand cordially, "but you always come in such a funny way. Why didn't you bring Daddy with you? He has been promising to come for ever so long, but I am almost as glad to see you."

"How do you like it here, little Jim?" I asked, after she was seated near me.

"I never thought there was such a fine place. The girls here are so nice and all the teachers are very kind to me--I am making splendid progress, but tell me about Daddy--where is he and how did everything turn out?"

I took great pains to detail all that happened after she left and the success of her father. By this means I prepared her to testify in a natural way and told her he had bought a big plant in Georgia where he was now, but that he would return before Christmas. She asked a great many questions in open-eyed wonder, her early training in practical business enabling her to understand easily, but when through she lapsed into manifest disappointment.

"Then I will never go back to the Keys to live? And I won't have my boat _t.i.tian_, and won't Daddy have the _Sprite_? And Don--what will become of old Don?"

"You will either live in New York or down in Georgia, but he has kept your _t.i.tian_, and made the _Sprite_ over for his own use. Don went South with him."

"But, then, I will never see my flowers, or Nereid, or hear the music among the beautiful plants and forests at the bottom of the Gulf? Oh, I would like to hear the sweet music of the sea again. Do you know that sometimes our music instructress plays for me so delightfully I can almost go to sleep as I wanted to down in the water? She is wonderful and has been so kind to me; I wonder why I never had a mother? I have asked Daddy about my mother, and asked him to take me to where she is buried. All the other girls here have mothers they love so much, and if I saw where she was buried I would love her, too, as they do their living mothers. You have known Daddy a long time. Did you know my mother, too?" she asked sorrowfully.

"Yes, I knew your mother long before you were born."

"Oh, Mr. Wood, tell me--what was she like. I have always wanted to know. Daddy never liked to talk about it. One of my teachers, the one I room with, who is so good to me when I get lonesome, has asked me.

Tell me, Mr. Wood," she asked, leaning toward me impulsively, her eyes s.h.i.+ning like bright stars.

"Little Jim," I began, rising and looking out on the beautiful winter scene, "when you were about a year old your father lived here in New York and had a great deal of trouble and to get away from it all he took you and Don in the schooner _Canby_ and went out to sea. After many days you were wrecked on the Keys and went by the name of Canby ever since."

"Then my real name is not Canby? What is it? Was that when my mother died?" she asked, all at once, coming to my side at the window and timidly taking hold of my hand. "And you have not told me what she was like," she added, though apparently a.s.sured there was nothing dishonorable.

"No--little Jim--I think it is right for you to know that your mother did not die then, and it is not certain that she is dead. She was a very beautiful woman."

"But Daddy told me she was dead," looking up confidingly, her eyes large with inquiry.

"He meant she was dead to him, and did not feel able to explain. Can you understand it?"

"Daddy is my only wonderful Daddy and would not tell me anything if it was not best, but I am older now and can know more. Tell me, Mr.

Wood."

"Little Jim, I have told you enough now. You will have to come down to New York pretty soon to this trial as I explained; then I may tell you more," I said, laying my hand on her head convincingly.

"Will Daddy be there, too?"