The Best Policy Part 26

Kalin looked up at Benson in a dazed way, and for a moment seemed to be unable to grasp the fact that he had been addressed.

"Benson," he said at last, his eyes wandering dreamily about the room, "is a man ever justified in committing suicide?"

Benson was startled, but he replied promptly and emphatically, "Never."

"Suppose," Kalin went on, "that your life intervened between those you love and happiness; suppose that your life meant misery and failure for them, while your death meant success and-and comfort."

Benson drew up a chair and placed his hand on Kalin's arm as if to emphasize his words.

"_The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away_," he quoted earnestly.

"Life is G.o.d's gift and should be treasured as such. You may not return it until He calls, unless you would doubt His wisdom."

Kalin nodded his head thoughtfully.

"Men have gone to certain death for those they love and been glorified for so doing," he argued.

"A man may _give_ his own life to save the life of another and be a hero," returned Benson, "but he may not _take_ his own life for any cause and be aught but a coward."

"What matters it whether he takes it or gives it, so long as the purpose is the same?" asked Kalin.

Benson gripped the arm on which his hand lay and shook Kalin.

"Wake up!" he commanded sharply. "What's the matter with you to-day?"

Kalin roused himself, as if from a dream, and laughed in a forced, dreary way.

"Nothing is the matter with me," he replied. "I must have been reading something that gave my thoughts a morbid turn. Still, your reasoning seems to be that of a man who never has been tested. Your view has been my view, but I can see how a man's views may change when he is confronted by the actual conditions concerning which he has previously only theorized. I don't think you're right."

"It's a disagreeable subject, even for abstract consideration," a.s.serted Benson. "Let's drop it."

"All right," said Kalin. "I'm going in to lunch."

In the dining-room he got into an obscure corner and the waiter had to joggle his elbow to rouse him from the reverie into which he immediately fell. Then, after barely tasting the lunch he ordered, he went to the office of the club and asked that all charges against him be footed up.

"There's nothing against me at all now?" he said inquiringly as he paid the bill.

"Nothing at all, sir," replied the clerk.

"I'd hate to leave any club debts," he remarked, as if talking aloud to himself.

At his office he found his sons still gloomily discussing the situation.

"I think," he said, "that I have found a way to save the business."

"How?" they asked eagerly.

"The details are not quite clear in my mind yet," he replied. "I would like to give them a little more thought before explaining the matter.

But, if I succeed in pulling you through, you boys must be mighty careful in the future. A concern doesn't get out of this kind of hole twice, and I'm going to turn it all over to you."

"Why?" asked Albert in surprise.

"I ruined one business," was the reply. "One is enough. Be cautious. Go slow. You've got a good thing-a fortune-if you handle your finances properly and don't try to spread out too fast."

He shook hands with both the boys, to their great bewilderment.

"Where are you going?" asked Sidney. "One would think you were starting on a long journey."

"I'm taking leave of the business," he answered, with a laugh that had something of pathos in it. "I'm going to shut myself up for a day or so until I get my little scheme elaborated, and then you shall have the benefit of it, but I am out of active business."

Sidney and Albert were silent for some time after he had left. Jonas Kalin always had been a rather eccentric man, and they were accustomed to letting his whims and peculiarities of word and action pa.s.s without comment, but there was something in this parting that made them feel uncomfortable.

"I don't like it," remarked Sidney. "I wonder if the worry and disappointment have been too much for him."

"It is a hard blow to him-not for himself, but for us," returned Albert.

"However, we'll see him this evening."

Mrs. Albert Kalin was the housekeeper for the three men. Sidney, being a bachelor, had always lived with his father, but Albert had married and moved away from the parental roof. Then, when his mother died, Jonas had called him back and practically turned the house over to him and his wife, reserving only one large room for himself. In this he had his own little library, and to this he frequently retired for long evenings of solitude, for, while not a recluse, he was a man who really needed no other companionship than his own thoughts and often seemed to avoid the society of others.

He was not at home, however, when his sons arrived for dinner. Mrs.

Albert Kalin said he had brought home two or three bundles early in the afternoon, had gone directly to his room, where he remained for about an hour, and had then appeared with a valise.

"I never saw him look so haggard and distressed," she explained. "He kissed me most affectionately and said he had some business to attend to and would not be home to-night."

Late that evening Sidney Kalin went to his father's club, where he saw Benson and learned enough to send him to police headquarters. There was no publicity, but a search for the missing man was begun at once. The circ.u.mstances were, to say the least, disquieting.

At the moment this search was begun Jonas Kalin was crossing Lake Michigan on one of the large steamers, and his actions were such as to attract the attention of some of the other pa.s.sengers. It was a Friday night boat and was crowded with excursionists bound for a Sat.u.r.day and Sunday outing in Michigan. Jonas had a state-room, but he merely put his valise in it, and then paced the deck, occasionally stopping to lean over the rail and look down at the water. Once or twice he sought a secluded corner and sat for a time buried in thought, but he moved away the moment others stopped near him. About eleven o'clock, as he pa.s.sed through the main cabin, he saw a woman putting a little boy to bed on a sofa, and he offered her his state-room.

"I'm very grateful to you, sir," she replied, "but we couldn't think of taking it. You'll need it yourself."

"I shall not sleep to-night," he said. "It will be vacant unless you take it. Shove the valise into a corner somewhere and I'll get it in the morning."

He dropped the state-room key on a chair and disappeared through a door leading to the deck before she could make further protest, but his face haunted her all that night. In the morning, after some search, she found him huddled up on a camp-stool against the rail of the forward deck, and she thanked him again.

"You don't look well," she ventured. "Can I do anything for you?"

"It's not a question of what any one can do for me," he answered, "but of what I can do for others."

"I don't understand you, sir," she said.

"It's a good thing you don't," he returned, and, fearing that she had to deal with a crazy man, she left him.

After landing, he went directly to a hotel, engaged a room, and shut himself up in it until afternoon. Then he went to the dock and wandered nervously back and forth, looking out over the water and occasionally down into it. The dock men watched him curiously, and one of them loosened a life-preserver that hung near, but he went back to the hotel without giving them an opportunity to use it.

He kept close to his room at the hotel, and was so un.o.btrusive that the clerks and the other guests hardly realized he was there, and, being registered under an a.s.sumed name, not one of them recognized him as the Jonas Kalin who was described in the Sunday papers as being missing.

For, the secret search Friday night and Sat.u.r.day failing to reveal any trace of him, his sons had decided to try the effect of publicity.

It was not until he had surrendered his room Sunday night that his ident.i.ty was established. On the table was found a letter, sealed, addressed to Sidney Kalin.

"Kalin!" cried the clerk, when the letter was brought to him. "Good Lord! that's the man who disappeared. And there's a reward for information. I remember, too, he had all the Sunday papers sent to his room, and then kept out of the way until the moment he left."