The San Francisco call., 1913-09-29
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ciaI position, proud most of all of
the son whom he so loved. Now this
hideous disaster threatened his pride
at every turn-worse, 1t threatened
the one person in the world whom
he really loved. Most fathers would
have stormed at the boy when plead
ing failed would have given COM
mands with harshness, would have
menaced the recalcitrant with disin-
heritance. Edward Glider did none
of these things. though his heart was
sorely wounded. He loved his son too
much to contemplate making more
evil for the lad by any estrangement
between them. Yet he left that the
matter could not safely be left in, the
hands of Dick himself He. realized
that his son loved the woman--nor
could he wonder much at that His
keen eyes had perceived Mary Tur-
ner's graces Of form, her loveiiness of
face. He had apprehended, too, in
some measure at least, the fineness of
her mental fiber and the capacities
OF her heart Deep within him. de-
MED any outlet, he knew there lurked
a curious. subtle sympathy for the
girl in her scheme of revenge against
himself. Her persistent striving to-
ward the object of her ambition was
something he could understand. since
the like things in different guise had
been back of his own business sue
cess. He would not let the idea rise
to the surface of consciousness, for
he still refused to believe that Mary
Turner had suffered at his hand un-
Justly He would think of her as
nothing else than a vile creature.
who had caught his son in the tolls
of her beauty and charm, for the
purpose of eventually making money
out of the intrigue.
Glider, in his library this night, was
pacing impatiently to and fro, eagerly
listening for the sound of his sons re-
turn to the house. He had been the
guest of honor that night at an inn
portant meeting of the civic commit
tee, and he had spoken with his usual
clarity and earnestness in spite of the
trouble that beset him. Now, how
ever, the regeneration of the city was
far from his thought, and his sole
concern was with the regeneration of
a life, that of his son. which bade
fair to be ruined by the wiles of a
wicked woman He was anxious for
the coming of Dick, to whom he
would make one more appeal If that
should fail-well, he must use the in
fiuence at his command to secure the
forcible parting of the adventures
from his son.
The room in which he paced to and
fro was of solid dignity, we'll fitted
to serve as an environment for it's
owner. 1t was very large and lofty.
There was massiveness in the desk
that stood opposite the hall door, near
a window. This particular window
itself was huge, high. jutting in oc-
- .~sf4 I<1 T.
tion there was a great fireplace, set
with tiles, around which was wood
work elaborately carved. the fruit of
patient questing abroad. On the
walls were hung some pieces of tap
estry, where there were not book
cases. Over the octagonal window,
too, such draperies fell in stately lines.
Now, as the magnate paced back and
forth, there was only a gentle light
in the room. from a reading lamp on
his desk. The huge chandelier was
unlighted. ~. 1t was even as GIL
der, In an increasing irritation over
the delay, had thrown himself down
on a couch which stood just little
way within an alcove, that he heard
the outer door open and shut He
sprang up with an ejaculation of
satisfaction
"Dick, at lasti' he muttered.
IT was in truth the son. A moment
later he entered the room and went
at once to his father, who was stand
Ing waiting, facing the door.
I'm awfully sorry I'm so late,
Dad" he said simply.
where have you been?" the father
demanded, gravely. But there was
great affection in the flash of his
gray eyes as he scanned the young
| hn Of he ha nd
that he put on Dicks shoulder was
very tender. With that woman
again.
he replied:
"No, father. not with her. She won't
see me-
The older man snorted wrathful
appreciation.
Naturally" he exclaimed, with
exceeding bitterness in the heavy
voice. shes got all she wanted from
you-may namew He repeated the
words with a grimace of exaspera-
| tion: MY name!"
| There was novel dignity in the
sons tone as he spoke.
| "It's mine. too, you know, sir he
said, quietly.
The father was impressed of sud
! den with the fact that. while this
affair was of supreme import to him.
self, 1t was, after all. OF still greater
| Significance to his son. To himself
the chief concerns were OF the world
| ly kind. To this boy the vital thing
was something deeper, something OF
! the heart; for, however absurd his
feeling. the truth remained that he
loved the woman. Yes, 1t was his
sons name that Mary Turner had
taken, as Well as that OF his father
In the case OF the son. she had taken
not only his name. but his very life
Yes, it was, indeed. Dicks tragedy
Whatever he, the father. might feel
the son was. after all, more affected
He must suffer more, must lose more
must pay more with happiness for his
/ folly.