Vision House Part 35

"No-o," confessed Marise. She could easily have given an evasive answer; but suddenly she was conscious that she _wished_ to know the story.

"Maj--he--never told me."

"Never told ye!" echoed Mothereen. "Never told ye aught about the father he's so proud of, and all the rest? Why, if it had not been for that father of his, I don't suppose he'd have gone to the war like a shot, the way he did."

"Will you tell me--unless you think he'd rather you didn't?" asked Marise, gazing at the badly-taken photograph of a handsome, fearless-eyed child of five or six, in funny little trousers.

"Sure, there's no reason _why_ he should mind. The boy has nothing to blush for. It's all the contrary!" said Mothereen. "And I _will_ tell ye. It's right ye should hear what the gossoon fought his way up from to where he stands now. Ye've heard, at the least, that the father was English?"

"I think I did hear him tell someone--not me--that his father was a Yorkshireman," Marise remembered.

"He was that, and a gentleman besides, an officer in the British Army.

His name was the same as the child's--John Garth. It was an American girl he'd married, a girl from out West here. She went over to England as a kind of a nursery governess with a family of rich folks, and there was a row--a flare-up of some sort. The folks left her behind when they came home, and the girl got engaged to sing with a little concert party, tourin' the provinces. It was in Yorkshire Captain Garth saw her, and fell in love. He was always inventin' something or other, was my Johnny's dad: like father like son, and when the one child born to the pair of 'em was a toddler, the Captain had an accident with some explosive stuff he was workin' at. The poor young man's right arm was blown off, and his eyes were hurt. That meant he must leave the army, and as he wasn't wounded in the service of his country, not a red cent of pension did he get! The poor girl wife was expectin' a second child, but the shock she got by the accident brought on her trouble before its time, and she and the baby died together.

"It was nip and tuck that the Captain didn't die too. But he pulled through somehow, and there was the boy to think of. When it turned out that Government would do nothin', the poor man had a notion to come to this side of the world--his dead wife's country. She'd always been tellin' him, it seems, that those inventions of his, that the British War Office turned up its nose at, might make his fortune in the States.

"Well, he took the little money he had left, and thought to try his luck. But he was pretty well done for, poor man, and a big storm there was, crossin', just about put the finishin' touch; for he broke his leg aboard ship."

"Were you on the ship?" Marise asked.

"Not me! 'Twas many a year since I was on board a ship," said Mothereen.

"Me and my man--Pat was his name--we had our honeymoon in the steerage.

'Twas out to the West we came, near to where we are now, which is why me heart is in the West always. But troubles fell on Pat in business, and a friend of his invited him to join in a new scheme, back East in New York. The fellow'd been left a house there, off Third Avenue, and with Pat to help in the expense of a start, furnishin', advertisin' and the like, accordin' to him, they could coin money takin' boarders. It sounded all right on paper, and so it might have been in practice, maybe, with Pat to manage and me to cook, if half the boarders hadn't slipped off without settlin' their bills. But that's what they did, the spalpeens. And if troubles had been black out West, they was black and blue in N'York! This was the time when Captain Garth came limpin' in out of hospital, with his boy hangin' onto his hand. He'd seen our advertis.e.m.e.nt in a paper, offerin' cheap board. The man looked like death--and he didn't look like pay. But sure, me heart opened to the pair of 'em at first sight! Ses I to meself, 'If I was to have a child, I'd want one the pattern o' _that_.'"

"What happened then?" Marise wanted to know, when Mothereen paused for her thoughts to rush back to the past.

"Just the things ye might suppose! We none of us had any luck. There was no more doin' for the inventions in the States than there'd been in England. The Captain left the child in my charge, and went to Washington. There he hung about the place till the last of his money was frittered away, and nothin' to show for it. But my, didn't that boy grow into me heart, those days when he was like me own? Four years old he was, and to look at him or hear him talk, you'd have said six! There came along a big wave of 'flu, the end of that hard winter, and my Pat and Captain Garth was both laid low with the sickness. Pat took it from the Captain, nursin' him--and within a week of each other they was dead.

That's how me Johnny boy got to be me son."

"You were a saint to adopt him, when his father caused your husband's death," said Marise.

"_Saint_, is it? Wait till ye hear the rest of the story, and know what it was the boy did for me. Not much more than a baby he was, but with twice the understandin' of many a grown-up man I've met. He saw the way things were for me, with his wise little eyes, and he made up his mind to help when the time came.

"I had to give up the house, I couldn't hold on. I sold up my bits of things, and took one room for the two of us, Johnny and me. I got some sewin' to do, but 'twas in a neighbourhood of poor folk, and there wasn't enough comin' in to keep bread in our mouths. What do you think that baby did then, darlin'? I'm sure _this_ is the part of the story he'd _never_ be tellin' ye!"

"I can't imagine," said Marise.

"How he saved a few cents I've never rightly known, for he was mum about it. What I think is, he must have begged till he had a half-dozen nickels or dimes. Then he bought newspapers, and sold 'em in the streets. From the first minute he was a success, and it's not hard to see why. He was in a different cla.s.s from the poor dirty brats in the same business. And if ye'll believe it, me girl, there was times when the child kept the two of us on what he earned. From that day we never looked back. He put spirit into me, and the heart to work. Now, I'll turn over a page in the alb.u.m, and show you our boy at the age of ten.

What d'ye think of him?"

"He doesn't look like a seller of newspapers," said Marise.

"No more he wasn't, by then. He and I had gone into the mola.s.ses candy business. We made the candy ourselves; and if I do say it, there wasn't its equal in New York. Johnny would have the stuff wrapped up in pretty little packets of coloured paper tied with gold string, and I tell you, it went like smoke! At night, Johnny attended a school, and picked up knowledge as a chicken picks up corn.

"Now, here he is in the alb.u.m again at fifteen. We had the Mooney Mola.s.ses Candies--three sorts--for sale in a lot of shops, and we'd a little flat of our own, and money in the bank. Isn't he a fine fellow to look at there? The makings of a man! 'Twas when he was fifteen that he began to study the notebooks his father had left, and to turn his thoughts to inventions of his own. The first thing was an oyster-opener.

The second was a fastener to keep shoe-strings from untying. Then there was a big leap, and at eighteen he'd patented a toy pistol that fired six shots, and no danger in one of 'em! That was what began to bring _real_ money in; and Johnny said, 'Mothereen' (he'd called me that name from the first), 'the next step is goin' to take us out West to the place that you love!' So it did! 'Twas that high-speed bullet of his which won him the notice of the War Office. It won him ten thousand dollars, too; and on the strength of it he brought me back to the town where Pat and I settled first, in the happy old days. But little did I dream even then of the destiny ahead of the boy! I was lovin' him too much, and rememberin' the child he'd been, to realise that by me side a real genius was growin' up. I might o' done, though, if I'd kept me eyes open, the way he studied and worked, worked and studied, readin' the cla.s.sics and learnin' languages and mathematics the while he'd be f.a.ggin' out some new invention. But Johnny was never the boy to brag or talk about himself. He was always queer in spots, sort of broodin', you'd almost say sulky, unless you knew him, and a temper, too; though never with me. Then came his discovery of how to make motor spirit out of c.o.ke. That finished buildin' this house we're in, and bought his land at Grand Canyon. I mean it did all that in the first few months. Soon afterwards the dollars poured on us by thousands--yes, tens of thousands! You sure heard of the trench motor-tool for diggin', I know, because 'twas in all the English papers after the war had broken out, and Johnny was at the Front. There was all that about his Victoria Cross at the same time, or was it a bit before? You can tell me, I guess?"

"It must have been before. I never knew why he was decorated," Marise said.

"He wouldn't tell you when ye asked?" cried Mothereen, as certain as she was of life that the girl _had_ asked--yes, begged and prayed!

"He never did tell."

"Well, ye shall read the newspaper paragraphs yerself--American papers, mind ye!--for he never sent me the English ones, and I got what I got through his friends. I've columns cut out. And with them there's the praise of the trench machine, and the new kind of steel--Radium steel, he calls it--that they say will make him a millionaire in a year or two."

"A millionaire!" echoed Marise. "I thought he was poor!"

"Poor! Ye thought that--yet ye _married_ him--you, who could get anyone ye liked, from Princes of the Blood down to Cotton Kings! You _darlin'_!

Well, ye'll have yer reward. The boy is not poor. He's rich--what _anybody_ would call rich."

"Then why----" Marise burst out, and stopped herself. If she hadn't bitten back the words, they would have tumbled out: "_Why_ did he marry me?"

She felt very small in spirit and mean of soul compared with humble Mothereen, whose faith and loyalty had bridged the dark years with gold.

Why had a man brought up by Mothereen wanted to play the dummy hand in this ridiculous game of marriage?

CHAPTER x.x.xII

THE BEREAVED ONE

When his ship docked, two telegrams were handed to Lord Severance. The first which he opened was from Mrs. Sorel, and he glanced through it eagerly.

"Everything going as well as could be expected, but your return and final completion of arrangement eagerly awaited.--Mary S."

This was not quite as rea.s.suring, somehow, as the sender intended it to be. There seemed to be a hidden meaning behind the words, which tw.a.n.ged the wrong chords of Severance's emotions. Hastily he tore open the second envelope, hoping to find a message from Marise herself. But the signature was "Constantine Ionides." Then Severance read with horrified, incredulous eyes, "OEnone died suddenly last night of heart failure."

For a moment Tony did not understand all that the news would mean for him. OEnone dead! Well, he was free, at least! The hateful farce would not have to be gone through. He could sail for New York again in a few days.

But a shock of realisation broke the thought. Not to marry OEnone meant that he would not get his uncle's promised wedding gift. A fortune was lost!

The blow was a staggering one. He felt its full force, as if he had abruptly turned to face a gale from the east.

Wasn't it just his luck? Didn't everything always go like that for him in life? Almost to lay his hand on the things he wanted, to see them slip away from under his fingers!

The journey to London was interminable. He suffered so much during the miserable hours that it seemed as if he must have the consolation of some reward at the end--must learn that OEnone hadn't died after all, or that, better still, Uncle Constantine intended in any case to give him the money which should have been his.

But there was no brightening of the gloom for him. In fact, things were rather worse at the end of the journey, if possible, than he had expected. Uncle Constantine's heart was not softened by sorrow. On the contrary, he turned upon Severance in a rage and blamed him for OEnone's death.

The girl had faded visibly after her cousin left England. She knew one or two people who thought it for her good to be told that Tony's "mission" was to follow Marise Sorel. OEnone had subscribed for several American papers, in order to read of Lord Severance's doings on the other side. One was a weekly gossip rag, and she had been turning over a copy when she died. In fact, the thing was found in her hand, open at a page where Severance's name was coupled in a sneering way with that of Marise Sorel. The actress was said to have jilted him for a Major Garth, V.C., of his own regiment, and the rumour was reported that out of pique Severance would now marry his rich Greek cousin in London.

"It was enough to kill her--and it did!" said Ionides. "d.a.m.n you, Severance! I wish to Heaven you were dead instead of my poor girl who loved you. And I wish to h.e.l.l I could upset her will in your favour. I can't do that. But not a shilling of _my_ money will you ever get."

So OEnone had left him her own private fortune, as she had told him she meant to do if she died! That was something--probably the equivalent of the pledged million dollars--not allowing for the vile exchange. But of what use was _one_ million dollars to him, in his present plight? The least he could do with was double that sum.

To carry out the bargain with Garth and free Marise he would have to hand over a cool million. But how was he going to pay even his most pressing debts and live--much less _marry_--if he cleaned himself out of his whole inheritance at one stroke?