How like this mother the boy had grown the past year--just her age when he was born. The color of his blonde hair was almost an exact reproduction of hers. And this beautiful hair lent a peculiar distinction to the boy"s fine face. He had developed, too, a lot of little ways strikingly like the mother"s when a laughing school girl. He smiled in the same flashing way, like a sudden burst of sunlight from behind a cloud. His temper was quick like hers, and his voice more and more seemed to develop the peculiar tones he had loved.
That this boy, around whose form every desire of life had centered, should be in peril was a thought that set his heart to beating with new energy.
He heard his quick step in the hall, rose and laid down his cigar. With a rush Tom was in the room grasping the outstretched hand:
"Glad to see you back, Dad!" he cried, "but we had no idea you were coming so soon."
"I got a little homesick," the father replied, "and decided to come in for a day or two."
"I was awfully surprised at Miss Helen"s popping in on us so unexpectedly--I suppose you forgot to tell me about it in the rush of getting away."
"I really didn"t expect her to come before my return," was the vague answer.
"But you wrote her to come at once."
"Did I?" he replied carelessly.
"Why, yes, she showed me your letter. I didn"t write you about her arrival because you told me under no circ.u.mstances, except of life or death, to tell you of anything here and I obeyed orders."
"I"m glad you"ve made that a principle of your life--stick to it."
"I"m sorry you"re away in this dangerous campaign so much, Dad," the boy said with feeling. "It may end your career."
The father smiled and a far-away look stole into his eyes:
"I have no career, my boy! I gave that up years ago and I had to lead this campaign."
"Why?"
The look in the brown eyes deepened:
"Because I am the man to whom our danger has been revealed. I am the man to whom G.o.d has given a message--I who have been tried in the fires of h.e.l.l and fought my way up and out of the pit--only the man who has no ambitions can tell the truth!"
The boy nodded and smiled:
"Yes, I know your hobby----"
"The big tragic truth, that the physical contact of the black race with the white is a menace to our life"--his voice had dropped to a pa.s.sionate whisper as if he were talking to himself.
A laugh from Tom roused him to the consciousness of time and place:
"But that isn"t a speech you meant for me, Dad!"
The father caught his bantering tone with a light reply:
"No."
And then his tall form confronted the boy with a look of deep seriousness:
"To-morrow I enter on the last phase of this campaign. At any moment a fool or a madman may blow my brains out."
Tom gave a start:
"Dad----"
"Over every mile of that long drive home last night, I was brooding and thinking of you----"
"Of me?"
"Wondering if I had done my level best to carry out the dying commands of your mother----"
He paused, drew a deep breath, looked up tenderly and continued:
"I wish you were settled in life."
The boy turned slightly away and the father watched him keenly and furtively for a moment, and took a step toward him:
"You have never been in love?"
With a shrug and a laugh, Tom dropped carelessly on the settee and crossed his legs:
"Love--hardly!"
The father held his breath until the light answer brought relief and then smiled:
"It will come some day, my boy, and when it hits you, I think it"s going to hit hard."
The handsome young head was poised on one side with a serious judicial expression:
"Yes, I think it will--but I guess my ideal"s too high, though."
The father spoke with deep emotion:
"A man"s ideal can"t be too high, my boy!"
Tom didn"t hear. His mind was busy with his ideal.
"But if I ever find her," he went on dreamily, "do you know what I"ll want?"
"No."
"The strength of Samson!"
"What for?"
He shook his head with a smile:
"To reach over in California, tear one of those big trees up by the roots, dip it in the crater of Vesuvius and write her name in letters of fire across the sky!"