The Spoilers of the Valley Part 87

"Oh,--I'll find out before long, though. Believe me!"

Phil laughed, for this was a new phase in the make-up of Jim Langford, whom he had always considered impervious to the charms of any lady.

"Laugh, you crazy nut! Who would expect you to understand, anyway?"

Suddenly he sobered.

"You've got something there you want to show me."

Phil handed over the letter he was holding.

Jim read it, and his big, honest face beamed in delight. He pounced on Phil and wrung his hand.

"Man,--isn't that great now? He owned up,--the dirty sinner. But he waited till he was a dead one before he did it.

"Well!--better late than never. And here was I, thrusting my new notions on to you when you had good news like that to spring on me.

Man, but I'm a selfish rotter!

"But, say, Phil!--honest!" he reverted dreamily, "she was a positive vision."

There is no saying how long the conversation would have gone on, had not a telephone message come from the bank requesting Jim's attendance there immediately.

He hurried off, and was away most of the afternoon.

Towards closing time, Phil was standing at the kerb-stone, beside his car, when a tall young lady, fas.h.i.+onably attired and using a sunshade to tantalising advantage, crossed the road in front of him and stopped before one of the office windows. She stepped back a little, looked up at the sign over the doorway, "The Langford-Ralston Financial Corporation," and walked inside.

Phil followed, and was just in time to hear her inquiry.

"May I see Mr. Ralston or Mr. Langford, please?"

"Mr. Ralston is just behind you, miss."

The lady turned round.

She was tall, fair-skinned and, as Jim had said,--charming; for Phil knew in a second that she must be the same young lady of whom his partner had spoken.

Phil raised his hat and went forward to her. She smiled, and was about to address him when she stopped up. Her eyes grew wide and her face blanched. For almost a minute she stood staring at him, then she almost tottered to him. She put her hand on his sleeve, and her fingers ran loosely along his arm, as she still held his eyes with hers.

Her voice came at last, broken and in the faintest of whispers:--

"Philly,--oh, Philly! It is you! Don't you know me? Sister Margery!"

Her voice rose. She threw her arms around his neck and cried:--"I've found you! Phil,--Phil,--my own, dear brother, Phil! Oh,--I've found you!"

And Phil, with a heart too full to speak, and a mind too astonished to grasp the situation thoroughly, held her to him as tears ran down his cheeks and on to her hair.

At last he led her into his own room, until both of them should regain their composure.

Years and years rolled back in these last few minutes.

She and Phil were happy little playmates together again.

"Oh, brother!" she said at last, "don't tell me any more. I can't hold it. Daddy is here. Let's wait for him. Poor old daddy! he's been starving for you, Philly, and heart-broken because he could not get news of you anywhere. He felt sure Graham Brenchfield would know,--and we have just heard of the dreadful things that he did.

Daddy was afraid----"

She picked up the telephone, rang up the hotel and got into communication with her parents.

"Oh, daddy!--come down the Main Street to number one hundred and fifty-six. Come quick! Big, big news, daddy! Run all the way! Bring mother!"

She rang off again, lest she should be tempted to tell her father more.

Shortly afterwards, when the office staff had gone for the day, a tall, grey-haired, straight-backed gentleman came in, accompanied by a sweet-faced, motherly lady.

Phil stood waiting, with just a little reserve, but there was to be no waiting.

The big, kindly-faced man ran to his boy and hugged him in his arms.

He then held him out from him, gazed on his face for a long time, then hugged him again.

"And I almost believed what they told me in the East. Oh, my boy! As if my own boy could be anything but straight, and clean, and honest!"

And there, in the little private room, Phil made his peace with the dear old lady he had wronged so long ago in his boyish idea of chivalry to his own departed mother.

One hour, two hours, three hours pa.s.sed like so many seconds, as he told them of all his wanderings, his hards.h.i.+ps, his disappointments, his ambitions and his ultimate success.

When he told them of how he had suffered five years in prison for Brenchfield because of the kindness Brenchfield's father and mother had shown in caring for him, in giving him a home and paying for his education--his old father's anger was almost at white heat.

"Paying, did you say, boy? By the Lord Harry!--not a cent did they ever pay for you. Why, boy!--it was you who kept them,--through me."

"That's what I've felt myself of late," said Phil, "but at that time I thought differently."

"For shame, Phil! Do you think I would let anyone provide for my boy, no matter where he might be, or what he might be? When you would not have the money I sent, I sent it to them regularly for your upkeep;--and much more besides, for they always had something to tell me of what you needed extra. I doubled the allowance when they sent you to college. Yes!--and it was three years after you had gone West before I knew of it, and then only through the death of Brenchfield's father and an inquiry I made through a firm of lawyers.

"We planned, not once but a hundred times, to go ourselves to Campbeltown in search of you. But I couldn't get away from my business affairs in Texas and your mother was too ill to travel alone. Last winter, however, I sold all my interests for cash, your mother made a great recovery, and we came away for a double purpose. First, to find you, if we could; next, to see if we should like to make a home out here, for we had heard much about this part of the country.

"For years Margery has pined her heart out for her old playmate, until she threatened to come herself if I would not come with her. But, Phil, boy!--there was little need for her threat, for your daddy could not have gone to his long rest without making peace with his boy.

"We heard that you had separated from Graham Brenchfield several years ago; that you had gone to the bad; and that n.o.body knew of your whereabouts.

"Of course, that rascal's wonderful, would-be success was well-known in his native town. We came on here to get what information we could from him, in the hope of being able to follow you up. And we found--well--he is gone now, so we'll say no more. But we found you, well and in a position I would expect my boy to make for himself."

Then Phil told them of his quaint, whimsical and brilliant partner, Jim Langford, but not a word, of course, of what Jim had said to him in regard to Margery.

At last he came to what was nearest to his heart, after all,--his love for Eileen Pederstone--following it hard with a recount of the tide of misfortune that had swept over her father.

"Jim and I have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in solid cash, dad,--and, if you have anything to put in, it would be the finest investment in the world to clear that property of its mortgages and put it in a position to earn its own keep.

"But, say!--aren't you folks hungry? It is eight-thirty, and I'm just beginning to feel I want dinner."

"Come on then, Phil,--we'll all go to the hotel and have a bite there, then you can 'phone for this wonderful Jim Langford and we can have a session."