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Updated: June 3, 2025
He opened the letter and read the first few words, then he sat and stared for many a long minute into the fire, the half-crumpled sheets held tightly in his hand. Nelton opened the door. "Excuse me, sir," he said; "you have an engagement at ten." "Break it by telephone," said Lewis. "Don't come in again unless I ring. I'm out if anybody calls."
Nelton remained on guard beside the bags, repulsing the attacks of too anxious bell-boys. To him came a large, heavy-faced person, pensively plying a toothpick. "Say, young feller," he said, "how much do you get?" Nelton stared, dumfounded, at the stranger. "How much do I get?" he stammered. "Yep, just that," said the stranger. "What's your pay?" Helton's face turned a brick red.
"Come at once," it said; "your son has killed me." Leighton steadied himself with the thought that Le Brux was still alive enough to wire before he said: "Nelton, I'm off for Paris at once. You have half an hour to pack and get me to Charing Cross." Nine hours later he was taking the stairs at Le Brux's two steps at a time. As he approached the atelier, he heard sighing groans.
They struck out for the sea, but not by the long road that Lewis and the stranger had followed. There was a nearer Northern port. Toward it they set their faces, Consolation Cottage their goal. Three weeks to a day from the time he had left Lewis in Paris, as Nelton was serving him with breakfast, Leighton received a telegram that gave him no inconsiderable shock. The telegram was from Le Brux.
Lewis found his father sitting like a judge on the bench, behind a great oak desk he rarely used. An envelope, addressed, lay before him. He rang for Nelton and sent it out. "Sit down," he said to Lewis. "Where did you get your education? By education I don't mean a knowledge of knives, forks, and fish-eaters. That's from Ann Leighton, of course.
If you ask me, sir, I would s'y as chairs is wooden and walls stone an' brick for the comfort of their betters, an' that they 'aven't any too much discretion as it is, let alone talking." "Nelton," said Lewis, "I've been waiting to ask you something. I wonder if you could tell me." "Can't s'y in the dark," said Nelton. "It's this," said Lewis.
"Yes," he said, steadily, "I shall go to London." Leighton nodded and turned to Nelton. He gave him a string of rapid orders, to which Nelton answered with his frequent and unfailing: "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." "Wait here," said Leighton. "I'm going to answer this." He hurried away, and Lewis, feeling unaccountably tired, sat down on a divan.
A faint flush of anticipation was rising to his cheeks when a rap on the door startled him. Before he could look around Nelton announced, "A lady to see you, sir." Lewis leaped to his feet and stepped forward. Had one of the miracles he had been taught to believe in come to pass? Had prayer been answered? The lady raised her arms and started to take off her veil. Then she turned her back to Lewis.
When Nelton had closed the door, Lewis spread the letter on his knee and read: Dear Lew: All is well with your dad at last. I'm a poor hand to talk and a poorer to write, for my finger is crooked to hold a trigger, not a pen. But he gave me it to do. Don't take it too hard that a man with only plain words is blunt. Your father is gone.
For instance, you can't buy four seats that somebody else has a right to from a railway conductor for sixty-two and a half cents. There isn't any price at which you can get an American to say, 'Yes, sir, thank you, sir, every time he does anything for you." "Lunch is served, sir, thank you, sir," announced the impassive Nelton from the doorway.
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