Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1893-06-02


then walked hurriedly off down Broad
way.
'sWhat is this? / have no note of
such a sum.
! 'It is quite correct, sir. The amount
| is large one and the check was pre-
sented by your son. You must recol-
lect."
The cashier of the down town bank
placed in the Hon. Amos Leonard's
hands q check for exactly the amount
of LIE Roy's debts, not cent more or
less 1t was signed with the Hon.
Amos Leonard's name, in his own
peculiar chirography, but not by his
hand. Only he knew that-he and one
other.
''Ah yes! my memory must be fail
ing little, I--yes, of course" Mr..
Leonard forced short, harsh laugh.
81 recall it now-yes, perfectly.
1t is all right, good day, good day,
perfectly indeed. "
A young clerk, with his slim legs
twisted among the rounds of high
stool, watched the stately old man, as
he made his way out. When the heavy
door swung together, he dipped his
pen in the ink again but paused before
he used it, to say with shrewd,
malicious grin:
'Guess Beau Brummel LIE Roy
might help him to remember it bet
ter"
$50 on with your books, sir?'
| in .a1y
voice, which admitted of no retort or
disobedience. Silence ensued, except
for the scratching of the pens.
Mr.. Leonard's faltering steps carried
him homeward unwittingly and he
sank into his deep chair before the
| library fire, conscious of desire to
think it all over and corresponding
dread of the same. Perhaps it might
not be long before he ceased thinking
altogether. He felt that he had grown
to be an old, old man in the last few
hours
How brightly the fire was burning.
The great library looked unusually
neat and well appointed. He re-
membered that it had lately
been cleaned and renovated. He
hoped that Harry had mislaid none
of his books or papers All! papers
He must begin to think now about that
paper he had seen at the bank. When
he had warmed his bloodless hands
well, then he would think about it.
Since LIE Roy had entered upon his
professional career, father and son had
rarely met during the day, but they
had by mutual though tacit, agree
ment taken up the old habit of dining
together almost regularly, notwith-
standing the demands of society upon
the time of each. Tonight, Mr..
Leonard reasoned, lie Roy would
probably not come home Or perhaps
he was not aware of the fact that the
check had been shown to his father. 1t
would be better to wait in that case
until he did know. 1t would also
afford Mr.. Leonard more time to think
the matter over.
He stepped to a window to lower a
shade, where the sun blazed in too
glaringly in its red setting light.
Down the avenue he saw lie Roy com
ing home.
The father stood there watching his
son, as he had done thousand times
before. lie Roy had grown into the
habit of expecting him there, and now
just as he had always done, he
snatched off his hat and waved it boy
ishly over his head. The Hon. Amos
Leonard nodded his white head and
then laughed aloud at the mockery of
it. ''He does not know yet" he
mused. 81 shall have more time to
think"
He was waiting in the library when
LIE Roy came down stairs dressed for
dinner. He sat down by his father
and read the evening papers until the
meal was announced.
Then he arose, and just as he had
done ever since he grew to his fathers
height, offered his strong young arm
and led his father to his place at the
head of the table.
The evening dinner had always been
happy one to those two old friends
when they dined alone together. So
it was tonight There were no guests.
lie Roy's bright talk cheered the lonely
home and his father joined in it with
more than usual vivacity. 1t was no
time to think while ''the boy" was
present.
After dinner came game of chess,
and that finished, LIE Roy got ont his
guitar and acc ompauied his rich, sweet
baritone in the ballads his father loved
to hear.
Usually after this LIE Roy went out
some where Occasionally the Hon.
Amos Leonard went with him, but to-
night neither seemed inclined to leave
the luxury of home. Not until the
great hall clock chimed the hour of
midnight did LIE Roy rise and bid
goodnight to his father in the old,
boyish and unusual, perhaps, but in
finitely sweet to the old nun, who had
no one else to bid him ood-night in
any way.
After that it was too late to think.
''To-n orrow," said Amos Leonard to
hims If, she will know and he will not
corle."
Tomorrow passed slowly and yet
the father had not found time nor mind
to think. That dull old grief had come
upon him again just as it had when he