“In a short time we were married. But my dream of happiness was short lived. My wife and my mother had little in common, and often the passionate red lips would utter words that wounded the elder woman to the very heart. I soon saw how matters stood but was unable to control them. I pleaded with Annie, I reasoned with my mother; but the two beings whom I loved better than any others in the world had no love for each other. Several times I spoke sharply to Annie and to my surprise Robert sided with my wife against me and the mother who worshiped him. This seemed to break her heart and it was not long until she closed her eyes in her last long sleep.
“When all was over I again sought to reason with my wife. I folded her to my heart whilst I could scarcely repress the sobs that would well up from its depths. It seemed to me that she at first shrank from me, but I thought it must be only imagination.
“She now often treated me to perfect storms of passionate caresses and I was as wax in her band. No request could I deny her, and I found myself rapidly sinking in debt. But I should not blame her. Poor child! she knew no better. She had been left an orphan at an early age; cuffed about from place to place, her heart always full of longings which were never satisfied. When she married me she believed all that would be at an end. What one man could do for his wife another should also do for his. That this was impossible she could not understand.
“Sometimes I felt like cursing her, then overwhelmed by a rush of tenderness I would almost crush her in my embrace and again she would win the victory. But the time came when I felt the waves closing over my head, and I surely must have been mad or I would never have done what I did.”
The voice of the man broke and a suspicious moisture could be seen in his eyes. For a moment, he laid his hand over them ere he proceeded:
“I robbed my employer’s safe of ten thousand dollars. I knew I would be received with a storm of kisses and caresses which would outweigh everything else. Let come what would, for once she should be perfectly happy.
“With the stolen treasure in my pocket I hurried home, a full hour earlier than usual, in a state of delirious excitement bordering upon insanity. I found the door locked, but having my latch key with me I did not ring but quietly let myself in.
“The little parlor was deserted; so was the dining room and kitchen. The soft carpet deadened the sound of my footsteps. I went from room to room and in Robert’s room I heard voices. The door stood slightly ajar. Touching it lightly it opened several inches wider and the sight that met my eyes broke my heart. Clasped close in each other’s arms; their heads pressing the same pillow, were Robert and my wife. A quick movement opened the door wide with a creaking sound; the two heard and both started up as if electrified. Annie screamed and clapped both hands to her face. Robert’s face was a study. Hate and defiance were written in every line of it. With a sudden movement he took a revolver from his pocket and leveled it at my heart. But quick as was his action I forestalled him. With a single bound I gave his arm an upward blow sending the bullet into the ceiling and the revolver to the far end of the room.
“‘Madman!’ I cried. ‘What would you do? Have you not enough upon your conscience that you would commit murder?’
“The sullen, defiant look upon his face deepened.
“‘I hate you!’ he almost hissed. ‘You are a constant bar to my happiness.’
“Unjust as I knew this accusation to be I made no comment upon it but asked:
“‘Tell me one thing, and without prevarication. Do you love Annie?’
“Quick as a flash came the answer,
“‘I do!’
“‘And you, Annie, do you love Robert?’
“But Annie sobbed and would not give an intelligible answer, until I sternly repeated the question, and then, between broken sobs:
“‘O, I cannot help it. Indeed, indeed I cannot help it.’
“Staggering as beneath a blow I steadied myself for a moment against the table, then, with a mighty effort of will recovering myself, I took the stolen money from my pocket and threw it on the table.
“‘Take it,’ I said, ‘and make the most of it. I have now no use for it. Be happy if you can, I shall no longer stand in the way. You are free in every sense of the word to do as you choose.’
“I turned to leave the room when Annie threw herself sobbing in my way. She clung to me in passion and despair, asserting again and again that she ‘could not help it.’ Almost forcibly I loosened her hold and pointing to the money on the table I said to Robert,
“‘See to it, that you handle the money wisely, and remember that this girl now depends upon you for the comfort, of life. I have done with both of you!’
“Overcome by a sudden impulse I once more caught her in my arms, clasping her close to my breast. I pressed a last kiss upon her lips, then putting the half-fainting form from me I rushed out into the cold night air. I surely need say no more. You now can understand what drove me to the verge of desperation. To find the woman who had driven me to the verge of ruin, untrue, was more than I could bear. A day or two and I would stand before the world exposed. The shame, the disgrace and the walls of Sing Sing loomed up before my mind’s eye. I had been a slave all my life to adverse conditions. And now to lose the one boon that I prized above all others—my liberty! No, I would die first! And yet I had it not in my heart to wish any ill to those two. True, I felt bitter towards my brother, but for some reason the fact of his actual helplessness was more clear in my mind than ever before. Have there not been countless cases wherein this very defect has appealed to the hearts of strong, healthy women?—and her pitiful ‘I cannot help it’ kept ringing in my ears. I knew I never loved her more dearly than in the moment I gave her up, or ever felt more tenderly towards him.
“Many conflicting thoughts surged through my brain; while constantly I questioned, ‘Why? why?’ And you may think me mad, sir, but the more I thought the more I blamed not them, the chief actors in this life tragedy, but the system from which such abnormal conditions could arise, and in one day make criminals of us all.”
Owen listened as if entranced. The excited man had arisen and was pacing the room with hurried strides, wildly tossing the masses of dark curling locks. After a few moments he continued:
“Often and often I had gnashed my teeth in helpless fury when the few paltry dollars were laid in my hands that constituted the remuneration for work which I knew was worth more than fourfold that which I received. I knew if justice could be done I had only taken my own. But that was not law.
“Now my mind wandered in another direction. I knew Annie and Robert had been thrown long hours together in my absence. His weak, delicate condition first awoke her sympathy, and ‘pity is akin to love.’ The frequent squabbling during the life time of my mother helped develop these feelings in her heart. So the weakling, who all his life had been scorned and shunned by health-and-strength-loving maidens, suddenly found himself the object of tender and sympathetic glances, and what wonder that his starved heart became inflamed? I could see the whole proceeding was but natural. But oh, the shame of it. No one else in all New York would look at the matter as I did, when it became known. But then the thought struck me, ‘Was it necessary?’ and must I fill a convict’s cell? I answered: ‘No! No! No! Never!’ Thus for many hours I walked the streets, thinking, thinking, thinking, until I found myself at the water’s edge about to end all the maddening perplexities, when your hand stayed my movements. So now you are in possession of facts which I had expected to take with me into my watery grave.”
The strange recital was at an end. Wearily the narrator flung himself into his chair and leaned back, white and exhausted. The bitter but musical voice was hushed while Owen Hunter sat with his head resting on his hand, lost in thought. Was the life of every good man a wreck? For that the man who sat before him was a good man he had not a single doubt. Aside from the bitter experience of his own life he had never thought of the struggling, suffering masses of humanity. Ten thousand dollars! He had no doubt that the sum seemed an enormous fortune to the man before him, while to Owen it seemed scarce worth mentioning.
“What salary,” he asked, “did you receive?”
A bitter smile curved the lips of the other.
“Fifty dollars per month.”
Fifty dollars! How often had Owen thoughtlessly squandered as much and more in a single evening; and here was a man who with his family had to live a whole month on it. For the first time in his life the question arose why it was that those who were the producers of all wealth should have so little of it to enjoy; for the first time he asked himself. “Have you a right to control so much money, while so many others are suffering for the actual necessaries of life?” What had he ever done to alleviate human suffering? In memory he saw large figures heading long lists of charity. “Charity!” Suddenly the word seemed to him the most cold and heartless in the English language. To offer charity where justice was due! In that instant he resolved that the sons and daughters of humanity, the many poverty stricken little children, should reap the benefit of the money he controlled. He did not yet see his way clear, and for the moment very wisely left the selection of methods to the future. The present hour belonged to the deeply stricken man who had permitted him to read the pages of his sad history.
“Will you not tell me your name?” he sympathetically inquired.
“My name?” With indescribable bitterness he spoke the words. “Why should I not give it you? All New York will be ringing with it in a few days when it will be known that the assistant bookkeeper of the firm of Hunter & Co. has proven false to his trust. My name is Milton Nesbit!”
As if electrified Owen turned upon the man before him.
“Repeat the name of the firm by which you were employed!”
“Hunter & Co.”
With a gasping sound Owen sank back, pale to the very lips. Surprised, Milton Nesbit turned inquiringly to him.
“Why, what is wrong; are you ill?
Owen shook his head.
“No! no! It is not that, but——Well, why should I search for empty words? My name is Owen Hunter!”
It was now Milton Nesbit’s turn to gasp with surprise. He had been holding his position some two years and in all that time had never seen the senior member of the firm. He had been told it had not always been thus; but for several years Owen Hunter no longer took an active part in the business, and most of the newcomers had never seen the man for whom they were coining and piling up money.
Milton Nesbit felt a strange thrill as his eyes rested upon the man who was to be his judge. An unspeakable bitterness vibrated through his voice when he again spoke.
“If you are the Owen Hunter of Hunter & Co. and if I were a good Christian I should say that the workings of an Almighty God could be traced in the events of this most fateful day; that he so willed it that it must be just the man whom I have robbed whose hand should stay the act which would have freed me from an accursed fate. But this just God who is said to be all love will not have it so. Earthly justice must first be satisfied; the almighty wrath must first be appeased by giving man a chance to avenge himself upon his fellow man. I simply call it cruel, relentless fate, which has pursued me so many years and which dates from the earliest recollections of my childhood. Very well! pass the sentence which I know lies in your power to enforce, for ‘money rules the world,’ you know. Hand me over to the guardians of the peace and let the law take its course. It matters little what becomes of me now. I may as well sleep behind prison bars as anywhere else. The sunshine of happiness has long since forsaken me; lost in the gloom and darkness of despair.”
Oh, the bitterness, the hopeless misery in the strong man’s voice. He had risen and walked back and forth the full length of the room, then with his elbow resting upon the mantel, his hand supporting his head, he stood glaring into the glowing coals, awaiting his sentence. But Owen now no longer calmly sat enjoying the comforts of the room. As the other ceased speaking he stepped to his side and gently laying his hand upon his shoulder, said:
“Will you look me in the face?”
Silently Nesbit turned and faced Owen. For some minutes they stood thus face to face; then Owen’s hand was extended.
“May I ask you to give me your hand in friendship?”
Surprise was depicted upon Nesbit’s face as he looked at the outstretched palm, and then inquiringly into the face of the man to whom it belonged.
“Friendship?” echoed Milton Nesbit, while he nervously passed his hand over his forehead as if he would dispel the mists which seemed to him to be gathering there.
“And why not? Am I selfish when I ask it? But with my millions a true friend is something which I have not, and now I am waiting to feel the clasp of genuine friendship. Do I ask in vain?”
Milton Nesbit’s face was a study. Queer little quivers were stirring the muscles. Sinking once more into his chair he buried his face in both hands. For some time neither spoke, then the deeply moved man raised his head and looked the other searchingly in the eye.
“And how about the criminal?”
“Do you feel yourself one?”
The flash in the dark eye answered him even before the firmly spoken words:
“No, I do not!”
“Then once more I extend my hand and ask, will you be my friend and brother? I might be able to give you an insight into a life that would verify the words, ‘All is not gold that glitters.’”
There was now no hesitation, and in that handclasp a life-long friendship was sealed. A Christmas morn it was to these two, that all their lives stood out clear and bright.
All that afternoon the two men sat in that quiet comfortable room, and as Owen had first listened to one of the saddest of life histories, so now, in turn, he opened his heart to his new friend, and in the first hour of his new-found friendship he proved it no idle phrase, for in this hour he claimed Nesbit’s trust and full confidence. If Milton could not at first give his sanction to an affair like that of Owen, who having already a wife, however unworthy, could take to his heart another woman, and finding her as he had found her, should hold her above all other women—this certainly, should excite no surprise.
Remembering the woman who, though false to him, he still loved, Milton could not sit in judgment and condemn this other woman who had given the wealth of her love to Owen without first asking leave of some third person or persons. Just at present he could see nothing clearly. He could feel, but was in no condition to reason. Owen saw and understood, and knowing that in his present condition the best thing for Milton was change—change of scene and of mental occupation, he at once decided to put into execution a long-deferred plan of his own. He would travel; he would take Nesbit with him as traveling companion; and just then he remembered an old college mate whom he had not seen for many years. Why not begin the proposed journey by making a call upon the friend of his youth?
Accordingly a dispatch was at once sent to announce their coming and in a very few days the two friends, who had become such in a way so strange and unexpected, were comfortably seated in a luxurious Pullman car en route for the west.