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Updated: June 11, 2025
DeGolyer did not think that the uncle was wholly sound of mind. One evening, just before reaching port, and while the two young men were standing on deck, looking landward, young Sawyer said: "Do you know, I think more of you than of any fellow I ever met?" "I don't know it," DeGolyer answered, "but I am tempted to hope so." "Good. I do, and that's a fact.
The old fellow's eyes bulged out as if he were straining under a heavy load. "Yes," he puffed, "the devil's gone wrong." "But isn't that of ancient date?" DeGolyer asked. "Here, now, young fellow, don't try to saw me!" And then he broke off with this execration: "Oh, this miserable world this infernal pot where men are boiled!"
He knocked, and a startling echo, an audible darkness, came from the valley. He knocked again, and a voice cried from the street: "Who's that?" "Helloa, is that you, my boy?" There was no answer, but a figure rushed through the darkness, seized DeGolyer, and in a hoarse whisper said: "Come where there's a light." "Why, what's the matter, Henry?" "Come where there's a light."
"So has the hog that picks up cards and tells the time of day," said DeGolyer, "but what good does that do him? He has to work harder than other hogs, and is kept hungry so that he may perform with more sprightliness. But if I have a good education, my boy, I stole it, and I shouldn't be surprised at any time to meet an officer with a warrant of arrest sworn out against me by society."
Witherspoon." "Henry DeGolyer," said Witherspoon, grasping his hand, "you are the most honorable man I ever met." "There, now!" DeGolyer cried, holding up his hand they all were coming toward him "do as I tell you and remain where you are." He caught up his bag and hastened out. "To the Star office," he said to the cabman.
I know what I'm talking about; I know just as well as can be that I'm going to die now you wait till I get through. It can't be helped, and there's no use in taking on over it. I did want to see my father and mother and sister, but it can't be helped." DeGolyer was on his knees beside the bed.
You'll get a good deal of money for those letters, won't you?" "No; a hired mail on a newspaper doesn't get much money." "But it must take a good deal of brains to do your work." "Presumably, but there stands a long row of brains ready to take the engagement to take it, in fact, at a cut rate. The market is full of brains." "How old did you say you were?" "I am nearly thirty," DeGolyer answered.
Shudder after shudder, seeming to come in waves, passed over Henry, but suddenly he became calm, and slowly he walked toward the rear end of the room. The scrub-man moved forward and was at Henry's feet. He reached down and took hold of the man's arm took the rag out of his hand. The man looked up. There could be no mistake. He was Henry Witherspoon. "Don't you know me?" DeGolyer asked.
"Did you understand mother and Ellen to say they were going out shopping to-morrow afternoon?" DeGolyer asked. "Yes, but what of it?" "There's this of it: If they decide to go, I want you to meet me here at three o'clock." "Why can't you meet me at the store?" "Don't I tell you that my friend is peculiar?" "Oh, it's to meet him, eh? All right, I'll be here." His play was nearing the end.
Merciful God, he's mad!" "Will you listen to me for a moment just a moment and I will prove to you that I'm not crazy. I am not your son my name is Henry DeGolyer. Wait, I tell you!" Witherspoon had staggered against the door-case. "I am not your son, but your son is not dead. I took his place; I thought it a promise made to a dying man." "What!" he whispered. His voice was gone. "You you"
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