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He attempted to speak, but his utterance was choked; and the tears in his eyes blurred to spectral dimness the only human being whom he held warm in his heart. "Hank, while I am able to talk I've got a great favor to ask of you. And you'll grant it, won't you?" "Yes," DeGolyer Bobbed. For a few moments the sick man lay in silence. He fumbled about and found DeGolyer's hand.
"All right, uncle; whatever you say goes." When DeGolyer mounted a mule and set out on his journey, young Sawyer, as if clinging to his friendship, walked beside him for some distance into the country. "Well, I'd better turn back here," said the young man, halting. "Say, Hank, don't stay away any longer than you can help. It's devilish lonesome here, you know." "I won't, my boy." "All right.
"Don't leave the office before I come," he called, looking back at her. "You know I won't," she answered. At the appointed time, the next day, George Witherspoon was waiting in his library. DeGolyer came in a cab, and when he got out, he told the driver to wait. "Where is your friend?" Witherspoon asked as DeGolyer entered the room. "He'll be here within a few minutes."
I haven't questioned him, but occasionally he drops a hint that leads me to believe that he's satisfied." DeGolyer was once tempted to tell Richmond and McGlenn that he was feeling his way through a part that had been put upon him, but with this impulse came a restraining thought the play was not yet done.
"I thought it best to get back as soon as possible," DeGolyer answered, shaking hands with him. "The truth is, I met a man who caused me to change my plans. He wants to buy my paper, and so I came back with him." "Good enough, my dear boy. We'll go down immediately after breakfast and close with him one way or another. I am delighted, I assure you. Why, I missed you every minute of the time.
"The ship has merely dodged in here," said he, "and won't stay long, and it may be a month before another one comes." And then he added: "You may leave these melancholy rites to me." A man stepped into the doorway and cried in Spanish: "The ship is ready." DeGolyer turned to the priest, and placing a purse on the table, said: "I thank you."
"One moment," said the priest, and pointing to the couch, he asked: "What name?" "Henry Henry DeGolyer." Onward went the ship, nodding to the beck and call of mighty ocean. DeGolyer or, rather, Henry Witherspoon, as now he knew himself walked up and down the deck. And it seemed that at every turn his searching grief had found a new abiding-place for sorrow.
DeGolyer asked. "That long, at least." "I will leave him with you, and I urge you not to stop short of the highest medical skill that can be procured in either this country or in Europe. As to who this young man is or may turn out to be, that must be kept as a secret. I will call every day. Henry" "Hank." "All right, Hank. Now, I'm going to leave you here, but I'll be back soon."
I couldn't do much for him, being a poor man myself, but I got him a place in a restaurant, where he could get enough to eat, anyhow. I've since heard that he used to be a newspaper man, but this was disputed. Some people said that the newspaper DeGolyer was a black-haired fellow. But that didn't make any difference I did the best I could."
But he felt a momentary fear, he realized that a possible danger thenceforth would lie in wait for him, and then came the easing assurance that his early life, his father and his mother, were remembered by no one of importance, and that even if he were recognized as Henry DeGolyer, he could still declare himself the stolen son of George Witherspoon.
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