Aunt Kate put her arm about the girl. "Won't you trust to the judgment of your old aunt, who knew your mother before you? I don't want your efforts to help other people to be turned into a punishment."

"I have thought of that, too." Virginia was very solemn as she spoke.

"Perhaps I went about it the wrong way. If I had done things differently perhaps I wouldn't have made Daddy angry."

"You must not allow yourself to worry, dear. We will give your father a chance to help Charles Augustus. If he doesn't do it, something else will come up and we will keep on giving him the opportunity. In the end everything will work out for the best, I am sure."

So that afternoon Virginia wrote to her father and asked him to contribute towards the expense of the operation upon Charles Augustus.

It was a cheery letter and in no word of it could one guess the tears and longings between the lines.

Obadiah's answer, as befitted a good business man, was prompt. While he admitted the sadness of the case he could see no reason why he should be asked to pay for an operation upon a boy of whom he knew nothing. He enclosed a small check and concluded his letter with directions that his daughter return home at once.

"Just as I expected," announced Aunt Kate, when Virginia, the bewildered subject of conflicting emotions, brought it to her. "Obadiah is wild to have you home. That is our strength. Don't you surrender to him, Virginia. I wouldn't be a slave to any man and certainly not to brother Obadiah. I always made him step about, I can promise you. And if you follow my advice you can, too."

Virginia's face was wistful. "I don't want to make Daddy step about, Aunt Kate."

"You started this revolution, Virginia, and you must see it through.

Now, I am in it. The only slave in that big house in South Ridgefield is going to be Obadiah. My dander is up, child, and I am going to make him sweat. I must finish the job of training which I started years ago. He never disobeyed me then and he had better not try it now." Her eyes flashed and her manner was extremely menacing. "In the meantime,"

she stormed, "he has brought you into the world, which complicates matters but does not relieve me of my responsibilities."

The second letter to Obadiah was in the hand of Virginia but it breathed the words and spirit of his sister Kate. It was an independent doc.u.ment.

Every line of it bristled with the spirit of '76. It regretted his decision not to help in the case of Charles Augustus and also that Virginia had not completed her visit so that she could return to South Ridgefield. In vague terms it referred to a home with her aunt, and discussed a career, as well as certain positions for teachers available in and about Old Rock.

Virginia copied the letter and signed her name. Then she re-read with increasing alarm the ultimatum which she had approved. Had she been alone it would have been instantly destroyed; but under the stern eye of her aunt she was helpless. Obediently she addressed the envelope and, shaking way down in her very boots, she watched her aunt fold, seal and bear away for personal mailing the bolt which was to be cast at her father's head.

At the door Aunt Kate turned and, with the greatest a.s.surance, told the fear-shaken girl, "Mark my words! This letter will make brother Obadiah sit up and take notice."

CHAPTER XIX

OBADIAH "COMES TO"

As it is written that a prophet is not without honor save in his own country and in his own house, it is deemed just that such matters as have to do with the coming to pa.s.s of Aunt Kate's prediction concerning her brother Obadiah should be duly set forth herein that they may be not suppressed through local jealousy.

Obadiah received Virginia's letter late one afternoon as he was about to return home. He did not immediately read it, but carried it with him that he might enjoy it in the greater seclusion of his own domicile. What took place thereafter is best described in the words of a confidential communication from Serena to Ike. "Dat ole man is er ra'in' an' er ta'in' 'roun' in dyar jes lak sumpin done stung 'im. It's de badness er wo'kin' out. De hot fiah o' to'ment singe 'im an'

de cont'ary spi'it cry aloud fo' he'p lak er lamb afo' er ragin'

lion in de wilde'ness."

Ike received these tidings concerning the spiritual pa.s.s of his employer with an interest that lacked the kindly sympathy which should be extended to a brother struggling with the forces of evil. He made answer in a casual manner, "Mr. Devil done run dat ole man to ea'th er long time ergo. He jes er settin' back, lafin sof' to hisse'f, er watchin' de houn's er scratchin' an' er clawin'. He gwine dig 'im out presently. Ah 'spects dat de 'pointed hour is at han'."

At dinner Obadiah was in a surly mood which he vented upon Serena by making cutting criticisms concerning the food and service. She received his comments in silence, storing them up until a more propitious hour of reckoning. Meanwhile she solaced herself by certain outbursts at Ike.

Unconscious of impending disaster, the chauffeur had seated himself adjacent to the range. Here he rested from the labors of the day, having in view a tempting repast of chicken and sweet potatoes. He endeavored by agreeable conversation, to make smooth, or grease if you wish, its pathway to his stomach. "Miss Sereny, yo'all is er movin' mighty peart dis evenin'," he remarked in tuneful tones, as the old negress hastily re-entered the kitchen, severely wounded by a barbed dart of Obadiah's temper.

She whirled upon him and snapped, "Shet up dat big mouf. Yer 'minds me o' er ole alligator er settin' thar workin' yer jaws an' ain'

say nothin'."

A glance at Serena's face showed Ike that storm signals were unmistakably flying. He thought to a.s.suage the tempest by the tender of a.s.sistance. "Caint ah he'p you, Miss Sereny? Ah 'spects dat yo'all is plum ti'ed er wo'kin' in dis yere hot kitchen."

She fixed him with smoldering eyes. "He'p me, he'p me," she repeated indignantly. "De onlies way er lazy nocount lummox lak yo'all kin he'p me is by er movin' yer triflin' carca.s.s out o' ma kitchen stid o' layin' 'round ma stove lak er houn' dawg. Lif youse'f off dat chair, boy."

Ike, the indirect victim of Virginia's letter, removed himself in haste from his comfortable corner and retired to the cool steps of the back stoop, to allow the domestic cyclone to blow itself out before attempting again to procure his evening's nourishment.

Obadiah had an uncomfortable night. A remembrance of the lance like thrusts of Aunt Kate, which, in the name of his daughter, had so cruelly lacerated him in spite of his armor of egotism, drove sleep away. Tossing upon a bed of discomfort, he heard the clocks toll out each pa.s.sing hour until, weary and tired eyed, he left his bed, ill prepared to face the burdens and perplexities of the new day.

At breakfast, Serena served Obadiah efficiently; but her att.i.tude was hostile. The wounds of the proceeding night were yet raw. When he had eaten, she faced him sternly and demanded, "When is yo'all 'spectin'

Miss Virginy is er gwine come home?"

"One of these days," he answered with indifference.

She was not to be thus summarily dismissed. "Dat day bettah be er comin' mighty quick," she threatened. "Ah is er gittin ti'ed er waitin' 'roun' yere. Presen'ly, ah gwine pack ma duds an' go whar she at."

"You attend to your own business," he snarled petulantly.

His irritation was an elixir of strength to her. Hands on hips she gazed defiantly at him. "Ma business is whar Miss Virginy is. Ah ain'

promise Miss Elinor dat ah tek care o' yo'all. Ah gives ma word to watch dat chil'. Ef you is er countin' on me er stayin' in dis yere house yo'all bettah git dat gal back quick. Ah ain' got no time fo'

no man so se'fish dat 'is own kin folk done turn again 'im."

Before the righteous indignation of his own servant Obadiah fled from his dining room, speechless with indignation.

He entered his office at nine o'clock. The sound of Mr. Jones's typewriter should have greeted him and he should have perceived Kelly recording profits in the great ledgers. This morning their seats were vacant. There was a lonesomeness about the place distasteful to the manufacturer. His sleepless night and the altercation with Serena had caused him to develop a fit of indigestion which was not allayed by the lack of punctuality on the part of his heretofore punctual subordinates.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, also happy laughter. Tardy employees approached their work joyously, not stealthily, as is the normal custom of such miscreants. No cheery smile of cordial welcome mantled Obadiah's face. No well turned quip, to amuse his minions in their hours of toil, was upon his lip. He sternly awaited the coming of these frivolous and delinquent workers.

As Mr. Jones and Kelly entered, there were glad smiles upon their faces.

There was something different about the stenographer. There was a marked outward change in him. His clear complexion proclaimed good health. He carried himself as if in complete control of his muscles. In place of awkwardness had come a distinct grace of carriage.

There were more subtle changes in Mr. Jones, also. A clearness of eye, a steadiness of gaze and a quiet self-confidence were a novelty to his friends of other days.

But, strangest of all, the private secretary's old time beauty was marred by a discoloration of the right eye, poorly disguised with powder, by several small cuts upon his face and by certain bandages on his hands.

Obadiah gave Mr. Jones a sweeping glance which failed to grasp details essential to a clear understanding of a subordinate. "What do you mean, loafing in here at noon?" he demanded most inaccurately, "I pay you to get here at nine o'clock. What does this mean?" The cruel glance of Obadiah's eye pierced the optic of Mr. Jones as if to plumb the depths of his soul and wrest his innermost secrets forth to be exposed, naked and ashamed, in the pitiless light of publicity.

The mill owner's efforts to read the stenographer's mind through the eye were futile. Had he succeeded, the result of his research would have shocked him. Believing himself to be peeping into the eyes of a turtle dove, he would have become aware that he might, with greater safety, have attempted to stare down the baleful glare of a Bengal tiger.

Lacking in the ability to read the human mind, Obadiah could not know that Fate, seeking a recipient for her favor, had plucked a peaceful soul from in front of a typewriter and made it fierce.

Had the manufacturer been able to view Mr. Jones's mind as the scenes of a movie, he would have beheld thrilling events taking place upon the previous evening. He would have observed his stenographer simply arrayed in trunks, socks and shoes, with eight ounce gloves laced upon his hands, give battle for the feather-weight championship of the Fifth ward, before a mult.i.tude of wildly excited male citizens.

Had Obadiah by similar means reviewed the mind of Kelly, he would have watched the battle as through the eyes of a second. He would have seen, beneath the electric lights, the muscles of the little fighting men play, panther like, under the healthy pink of their skins. If one drop of red blood remained in his anaemic old body, the mill owner would have thrilled as Mr. Jones, his arms playing smoothly as well oiled connecting rods, treading upon his toes softly as a cat, advanced, retreated and side stepped, ever warily studying the face of his opponent. He would have perceived that his stenographer ducked and dodged with incredible swiftness, his gloved hands playing always to feign, to ward and to deliver blows which resounded with the thud of leather against quivering flesh. Obadiah's eyes would have recognized the rich red of blood smearing the marble of human flesh, and he would have tingled at the excitement of the spectators when, rising from their seats, they tumultuously applauded the giver of a lucky blow.

Through five gruelling rounds of fighting the manufacturer would have followed the fortunes of his private secretary until that final moment when, panting and heaving, he stood over the p.r.o.ne form of his adversary, counting the motions of the referee's hands, whose voice could not be heard above the thunderous applause which acclaimed him victor.

But no picture of this battle could have told Obadiah that in the moment of triumph the spirit of Mr. Jones was reborn; that from the building, into the portals of which he had been almost dragged by Kelly, he had come forth a red-blooded fighting man whose gore had mixed with that of his antagonist.

Ignorant of these happenings, Obadiah angrily awaited an answer from his unpunctual servants.