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Updated: June 11, 2025
Old Sawyer was so demonstrably gratified to have a companion for his nephew that he invited DeGolyer to take a room in his house, and DeGolyer gratefully accepted this kindness. Young Sawyer was delighted when the household had thus been arranged, and with many small confidences and unstudied graces of boyish friendship, he kept his guest in the refreshing atmosphere of welcome.
When he was shown in he found an aspiring politician laughing with forced heartiness at something which the editor had said. To the Southern politician the humor of an influential editor is full of a delirious mellowness. When the politician went out the editor invited DeGolyer to take a seat. "Mr. DeGolyer, a number of your sketches have been well received."
Of course, two wrongs don't make a right, as the saying has it, but a wrong with a cause is half-way right, and I'll tell them at the very start that they better not talk about the matter. In fact, I told them so in the letter. You've had a pretty hard time of it, haven't you, Hank?" "I shouldn't want an enemy's dog to have a harder one," DeGolyer answered. "But you've got a good education."
"No," Witherspoon answered, "let us get to Dura as soon as we can. I've got a fever, haven't I?" DeGolyer leaned over and placed his hand on Witherspoon's forehead. "Yes, you have." "The truth is, I haven't felt altogether right since the first day after we started, but I thought it would wear off." When they reached Dura, Witherspoon was delirious.
"Henry DeGolyer." Henry sprang to his feet. He put out his hands, for the room began to swim round. He looked toward the door, but the men were gone. A waiter ran to him and caught him by the arm. "Sit down here, sir." "No; get away." He steadied himself against the wall. The ragged man looked up, moved his bucket of water, dipped his mop-rag into it and went on with his work.
But I'll be glad when all this nonsense is over." DeGolyer sat in his room, smoking his pipe. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and said: "Oh, what a liar you are! But your day for truth is coming." One morning, when DeGolyer called at the hospital, young Witherspoon said to him: "You are Hank, and I'm Henry." And this was the first indication that his mind was regaining its health.
It was written first by one and then another hand, with frequent interchanges; and DeGolyer; who fancied that he could pick character oat of the marks of a pen, thought that a mother's heart had overflowed and that a hard, commercial hand had cramped itself to a strange employment the expression of affection.
"You must have known how much we missed you, my son, and that is the reason you came home. And you're just in time for breakfast. Ellen, will you please get out of the way? And what do you mean by saying that he's darker than ever?" Here she gave DeGolyer an anxious look. "But you are not ill, are you, my son?" "Ill!" Witherspoon repeated, with resentment. "Of course he's not ill.
The story was getting old then, for I remember that the people paid but little attention to it." They sat for a time in silence. Young Witherspoon spoke, but DeGolyer did not answer him. They heard a guitar and a Spanish love song. "Yes, it is strange," said DeGolyer, coming hack from a wandering reverie.
DeGolyer, we have been thinking of sending a man down into Costa Rica. Our merchants believe that if we were to pay more attention to that country we might thereby improve our trade. What we want is a number of letters intended to familiarize us with those people want to show, you understand, that we are interested in them." They talked during an hour.
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