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Updated: June 11, 2025
DeGolyer ran to him and eased him into his chair. "Your son is here, and the man who has brought nothing but ill luck will leave you. I tried to soften this, but couldn't," Witherspoon's head shook as he looked up at him. "Wait a moment, and I will call him. No, don't get up." DeGolyer hastened to the front door, and standing on the steps, he called: "Henry! oh, Henry!" "All right, Hank."
I've had an awful time awful but it's all right now. Hank found me in New Orleans, scrubbing a floor; but it's all right now." "I'll get him some brandy," said DeGolyer. "No," Witherspoon objected, "I'll be myself in a minute. Never was so shocked in my life. Who ever heard of such a thing? Of course you couldn't soften it. Let me look at you, my son. How do I know what to believe?
When I went into that restaurant my sympathies were dead, and when that man pointed at the poor menial and said that his name was Henry DeGolyer" "No, no," she said, hiding her face, "your sympathies were not dead. You you were a hero." "I was simply a frozen-blooded fool," he replied. "And now I must tell you something, but I know that it will make you despise me.
"Ah, that's all very well," said Witherspoon, "but what proof had he?" DeGolyer met Witherspoon's careless look and held it with a firm gaze. And slowly raising his hand, he said: "He held up a gold chain." Witherspoon sprang to his feet and exclaimed: "My God, he's crazy!" "Wait!" The merchant had turned toward the door. He halted and looked back. "George Witherspoon" "I thought so crazy.
"There," Richmond spoke up, "I never knew a man of that name that wasn't a wolf. But sometimes one good fellow offsets a whole generation of bad names. I never liked the name Witherspoon until I met you." "How do you like DeGolyer?" Henry asked. "That's not so had, but it isn't free from political scandal. I rather like it strikes me that there might be a pretty good fellow of that name.
No, there's no mistake now." He got up, and holding the young man's hands, stood looking at him. "Who's that?" he asked. They heard voices. Mrs. Witherspoon and Ellen were coming down the hall. DeGolyer stepped hastily to the door. "Oh, what are you doing here?" Ellen cried. "I saw somebody Miss Miller. She didn't say so, but I know that she wants me to kiss you for her, and I will." "Ellen!"
They drove to the hotel and then to the railway station. The homeward journey was begun, and the wheels kept on repeating: "A father and a mother and a sister, too." DeGolyer did not permit himself to think. His mind had a thousand quickenings, but he killed them. Young Witherspoon looked in awe at the luxury of the sleeping-car; he gazed at the floor as if he wondered how it could be scrubbed.
A buzzard flapped his heavy wings and flew from a dead tree; a yelping dog ran after the train; a horse, turned out to die, stumbled along a stumpy road. It was evening when the train reached Chicago. DeGolyer and young Witherspoon took a cab and were driven to a hospital. The case was explained to the physician in charge.
I heard somebody say that he lived in the city here, but he never came out to see us. Oh, yes, I remember him. He was a stupid little thing, but that didn't keep him from being mean. He oughtn't to have been taken in here, for he had a father." "Did you know his father?" "Who? John DeGolyer? I reckon I did, and he wa'n't no manner account, nuther.
"Not Henry Hank. Henry's dead." "Well, what's the matter, Hank?" "Want my hat." "It's up there. We'll get it in the morning." "Want it now." DeGolyer got his hat for him, and he lay with it on his breast. How dragging a night it was! Would the train never run from under the darkness out into the light of day?
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