Sons and Fathers

Sons and Fathers
Harry Edwards

Harry Stillwell Edwards

Sons and Fathers

CHAPTER I

TWO SONS

At a little station in one of the gulf states, where the east and west trains leave and pick up a few passengers daily, there met in the summer of 1888 two men who since they are to appear frequently in this record, are worthy of description. One who alighted from the west-bound train was about 29 years of age. Tall and slender, he wore the usual four-button cutaway coat, with vest and trousers to match, which, despite its inappropriateness in such a climate, was the dress of the young city man of the south, in obedience to the fashion set by the northern metropolis. His small feet were incased in neat half-moroccos, and his head protected by the regulation derby of that year. There was an inch of white cuffs visible upon his wrists, held with silver link buttons, and an inch and a half of standing collar, points turned down. He carried a small traveling bag of alligator skin swung lightly over his left shoulder, after the English style, and a silk umbrella in lieu of a cane. This man paced the platform patiently.

His neighbor was about the same age, dressed in a plain gray cassimer suit. He wore a soft felt traveling hat and the regulation linen. He was, however, of heavier build, derived apparently from free living, and restless, since he moved rapidly from point to point, speaking with train hands and others, his easy, good-fellow air invariably securing him courtesy. His face was full and a trifle florid, but very mobile in expression; while that of the first mentioned was somewhat sallow and softened almost to sadness by gray eyes and long lashes. As they passed each other the difference was both noticed and felt. The impressions that the two would have conveyed to an analyst were action and reflection. Perhaps in the case of the man in gray the impression would have been heightened by sight of his two great commercial traveling bags of Russia leather, bearing the initials "N. M. Jr."

There was one other passenger on the platform – a very handsome young woman, seated on her trunk and trying to interest herself in a pamphlet spread upon her lap, but from time to time she lifted her face, and when the eyes of the man glanced her way she lowered hers with a half-smile on her lips. There was something in his tone and manner that disarmed reserve.

An officer in uniform came from the little eating-house near by and approached the party.

"Are there any passengers for the coast here?" he asked.

"I am going to Charleston," the young lady said.

"Where are you from, miss?" Then, seeing her surprise, he continued: "You must excuse the question but I am a quarantine officer and Charleston has quarantined against all points that have been exposed to yellow fever."

"That, then, does not include me," she said, confidently. "I am from Montgomery, where there is no yellow fever, and a strict quarantine."

"Have you a health certificate?"

"A what?"

"A ticket from any of the authorities or physicians in Montgomery."

"No, sir; I am Miss Kitty Blair, and going to visit friends in Charleston."

The officer looked embarrassed. The health-certificate regulation and inland quarantine were new and forced him frequently into unpleasant positions.

"You will excuse me," he said, finally; "but have you anything that could establish that fact, visiting cards, correspondence – "

"I have told you," she replied, flushing a little, "who I am and where I am from."

"That would be sufficient, miss, if all that is needed is a lady's word, but I am compelled to keep all persons from the east-bound train who cannot prove their residence in a non-infected district. The law is impartial."

"And I cannot go on, then?" There were anxiety and pathos in her eyes and tones. The gentleman in gray approached.

"I can fix that, sir," he said, briskly addressing the officer. "I am not personally acquainted with Miss Blair, but I can testify to what she says as true. I have seen her in Montgomery almost daily. My name is Montjoy – Norton Montjoy, Jr. Here are my letters and my baggage is over yonder."

"Are you a son of Col. Norton Montjoy of Georgia, colonel of the old 'fire-eaters,' as we used to call the regiment?"

"Yes, indeed," and a happy smile illumined his face.

"My name is Throckmorton," said the officer. "I followed your father three years during the war, and you are – by Jove! you are the brat that they once brought to camp and introduced as the latest infantry recruit! Well, I see the likeness now."

The two men shook hands fervently. The officer bowed to the lady. "The matter is all right," he said, smiling; "I will give you a paper presently that will carry you through." The new friends then walked aside talking with animation. The quarantine officer soon got into war anecdotes. The other stranger was now left to the amusement of watching the varying expressions of the girl's face. She continued low over her book and began to laugh. Presently, with a supreme effort she recovered herself. Montjoy had shaken off his father's admirer and was coming her way. She looked up shyly. "I am very much obliged to you for getting me out of trouble; I – "

"Don't mention it, miss; these fellows haven't much discretion."

"But what a fib it was!"

"How?"

"I haven't been in Montgomery in two weeks. I came here from an aunt's in Macon."

"And I haven't been there in six months!" His laugh was hearty and infectious. "Here comes your train; let me put you aboard." He secured her a seat; the repentant quarantine officer supplied her with a ticket, and then, shaking hands again with his father's friend, Montjoy hurried to the southwester, which was threatening to get under way. The other traveler was in and had a window open on the shady side.

There were men only in the car, and as Montjoy entered he drew off his coat and dropped it upon his bags. The motion of the starting train did not add to his comfort. The red dust poured in through the open windows, invading and irritating the lungs. He thought of the moonlit roof gardens in New York with something like a groan.

"Confound such a road!" and down went the book he was seriously trying to lose himself in. His silent companion's face was lifted toward him:

"A railroad company that will run cars like this on such a schedule ought to be abolished, the officers imprisoned, track torn up and rolling stock burned! But then," he continued, "I am the fool. I ought not to have come by this God-forsaken route."

"It is certainly not pleasant traveling to-day," his companion remarked, sympathetically, showing even, white teeth under his brown mustache. Montjoy had returned to his seat, but the smooth, even, musical tones of the other echoed in his memory. He glanced back and presently came and took a seat near by.

"Are you a resident of the south?" It was the stranger who spoke first. This delicate courtesy was not lost on Montjoy.

"Yes. That is, I count myself a citizen of this state. But I sell clothing for a New York house and am away from home a great deal."

"You delivered the young lady at the junction from quite a predicament."

"Didn't I, though! Well, she is evidently a fine little woman and pretty. Lies for a pretty woman don't count. By the way – may I ask? What line of business are you in?"

CHAPTER II

THE STRANGER ON THE THRESHOLD

"I am not in business," said the other. "I am a nephew of John Morgan, of Macon. I suppose you must have known him."

"Yes, indeed."

"And am going out to wind up his affairs. I have been abroad and have only just returned. The news of his death was quite a surprise to me. I had not been informed that he was ill."

"Then you are the heir of John Morgan?"

"I am told so. It is but three days now since I reached this country, and I have no information except as contained in a brief notice from attorneys."

"How long since you have seen him?"

"I have never seen him – at least not since I was an infant, if then. My parents left me to his care. I have spent my life in schools until six or seven years ago, when, after graduating at Harvard and then at Columbia college in law, I went abroad. Have never seen so much as the picture of my uncle. I applied to him for one through his New York lawyer once, sending a new one of myself, and he replied that he had too much respect for art to have his taken."

"That sounds like him," and Montjoy laughed heartily. "He was a florid, sandy-haired man, with eyes always half-closed against the light, stout and walked somewhat heavily. He has been a famous criminal lawyer, but for many years has not seemed to care for practice. He was a heavy drinker, but with all that you could rely implicitly upon what he said. He left a large property, I presume?"