Captain Pott's Minister Part 6

He eyed the minister with a curious expression as they took their seats about the table.

"Maybe Dad wants me to repeat some verses to you. Used to do it and get patted on the head."

Mr. McGowan laughed heartily, but the Elder showed his displeasure.

"That will do, Harold," he commanded sternly. "I shall not allow profane jesting about sacred things in my house."

"Closet next, is it? Never mind, Dad, I'll try not to shock you again.

Haven't had much hankering for closets since I got shut up in that hole over in Sydney. They called it a prison, but it was more like a potato-pit than anything else."

"Sydney?" questioned the minister.

"Yes, Australia. You see, Mr. McGowan, I was a real prodigal for more than two years. Chased out to California after I graduated from Yale, and got mixed up out there in another fellow's sc.r.a.pe. To save my skin I shipped on a freighter to Australia. Over there I tried to save another poor devil from the lock-up, and got in bad with the authorities. Yes, I was a real prodigal, always trying to help the other fellow out of trouble and getting the worst end of it every time. The only difference between me and the Bible chap was that Father did not heap treasure on me when I left, and didn't kill the fatted calf when I returned."

During this recital the Elder had fidgeted to the end of his chair. "I cannot see, son, why you persist in telling of your wickedness to everybody. It's a thing rather to be ashamed of."

"I acknowledge that, Dad, but the closet idea suggested it to my mind.

Then, perhaps, it's not a bad idea for Mr. McGowan to know the worst side of me first. I spent about a week in that hole they called a prison," he said turning to the minister, "and seven days there couldn't be very easily effaced from my memory unless I went bugs and had an awful lapse. But the result was not so bad, for that place proved to be my swine-pen where I came to myself. It was just about as much like a pig-sty as any place I ever didn't sleep in.... Do you happen to know anything about Sydney, Mr. McGowan?"

"Not much. I know it's quite a trading center, but most of my information is second-hand."

"It is the best trading center on the Australian coast. An odd case came to the office from there last week. You know, perhaps, that I'm a member of the Starr and Jordan law firm in New York. Well, our branch office in Sydney referred this case to our office in London, and they, in turn, sent it over here. The reason it was transferred here is that the doc.u.ments say the client now lives in America. I happened to be put on the case because I knew a little about Sydney. The same case has been up several times, it seems, for some woman over there keeps pounding away at it. The queer part of it is that the trail has been followed up to a certain point and then lost at that point every time. It is the same old story of what is happening every day. Relatives of a wealthy trader left Sydney several years ago, the trader died, and the heirs to his fortune can't be found. The strange part of it is that these people can be traced as far as America without the slightest trouble, and then, without any apparent reason, they suddenly drop out of existence as completely as though they had been kidnapped and carried to a desolate island. So little data has been collected from the other side that the firm has decided to send me over to Sydney. It promises to be quite an adventure. That's why I came home to-night, Dad. I'm leaving in the morning."

Elder Fox had been listening intently, and at mention of the proposed trip he grew pale.

"I--er--should not go if I were you, Harold. They may arrest you again.

The police of Australia have a way of remembering things against former prisoners."

"How do you know so much about the police of Australia?"

"I've read it, sir," hastily explained the Elder.

"But I've got to go, Dad. They'll not pinch me. They found the right chap before they let me go, and couldn't do enough for me when they discovered their mistake.... You say you've never visited Sydney, Mr.

McGowan?"

"I was born there. But I don't remember anything about the place, as we moved away when I was a mere lad. I've often heard my father speak about it. He was a trader there in the early days."

"May I see your father to-night?" asked Harold eagerly. "He may be able to save me a trip over. Where does he live?"

"He is not living. He and Mother both died a few years after coming to America. The climate was too severe for them."

"I beg your pardon," apologized Harold. "I didn't know. I'm so anxious to get news of this man that I rush in where angels would fear to tread."

"That is perfectly all right. It's no more than natural that you should think he would be able to help you in your search."

"Yes. He could have doubtless given me valuable information concerning the traders of his day, and thus have put me on the trail of my client.

This man was arrested on some charge trumped up by two scamps, but was later released and exonerated. They'd arrest a man over there for looking at his own watch if he happened to cross his eyes while doing it. At the time when my client was in trouble the convict-ships were in business."

The Elder dropped back from the edge of his chair which he had held since the beginning of the conversation. He gave his son a look of dumb appeal. With an effort he straightened and glared vacantly across the table.

"I was aboard the convict-ship _Success_ while she was in the New York harbor this spring," commented the minister. "I don't see how civilized men could think out so many different modes of torture and remain civilized, let alone human."

"Nor I. I was aboard the old tub, too. That was the ship my client was on. It was when she first came out."

The Elder was acting queerly.

"Dad, what's wrong?" asked Harold, with concern.

"Nothing,--er--nothing. Only I do wish you would not take this trip.

Can't you send some one else?"

"I'm afraid not. You see, I'm not my own boss. No, Dad, I can't get out of it."

Harold had never seen his father so concerned for his welfare, and it greatly affected him.

"They won't trouble me, not in the least. To ease your mind I'll go under an a.s.sumed name, if you say so. But I must get my data at the source concerning this man Adoniah Phillips, if----"

The Elder was sipping his coffee, and his cup fell into the saucer with a crash, breaking both fragile pieces into fragments. The contents were sprayed over the linen, and drops stained the Elder's white waistcoat.

"Father!" cried Elizabeth. "What is the matter? You are ill!"

He did not answer. He turned an ashen face toward Mr. McGowan, and with a wild stare studied that young man's face. The two men sprang to the old man's a.s.sistance, but as the minister reached out his hand Mr. Fox gave a startled cry and threw up his arm as though to ward off a blow.

"Go back to your seats!" ordered the Elder thickly. "Do not mind me. I'm all right, or shall be in a few seconds."

He fought helplessly for self-control.

"Come, Dad, you must go to your room," declared Harold, taking his father tightly by the arm.

"I'm not ill, sir," answered the father, stubbornly. "But it might be as well for me to retire from the table. You need not trouble, Mr.

McGowan. I shall get on quite well with my son's a.s.sistance," he affirmed, waving the minister back.

Mr. Fox drew his handkerchief across his perspiring forehead, and dazedly eyed the stained cloth. "I'm sorry, Beth, very sorry I was so awkward."

"Don't mind the cloth, Father," begged the girl tearfully.

"You remain with Mr. McGowan, Beth. I shall soon be quite myself.

Fainting spell, I guess."

Harold led his father from the room. Elizabeth turned to the minister.

"Oh, Mr. McGowan! Is it--do you think----Oh! I can't say it! It's too awful!"

"We must telephone for the doctor at once. It may be serious."

"Then, you do think it's a stroke! What shall we do!"

Mr. McGowan telephoned for the doctor, and when he arrived he sent him at once to the Elder's room. The physician entered unannounced, stopped short on the threshold, and stared at the two men who were in the midst of a heated discussion.