The Holbrook news., 1922-09-22

edge to feel the jingle of 1t; the old house suddenly became stuffy and prisOnlike as he wandered through 1t. Again and again pounded through his head the fact that only a night of travel intervened between Indianapo- Ills and St. Louis; within twelve hours he could be In the office of Henry Beamish. And then
 A hurried resolution. A nasty pack ing of travelling bag and the cashing of check at the cigar store down on the corner. A wakeful night while the train clattered along upon its journey. At last:
 I'm Robert Fairchild," he said, as he faced a white-haired, Cupid-faced man in the rather dingy offices in the Princess building. A slow smile spread over the pudgy features of the genial-appearing attorney, and he waved a fat hand toward the offices extra chair.
 "Sit down, Son." came casually. Needn't have announced yourself. I'd have known you-just like your fa- ther, Boy. How is he?" Then his face suddenly sobered. 'Tm afraid your presence Is the answer. Am I right?"
 Fairchild nodded gravely. The old , attorney stared out of the window to the grimy roof and signboards of the next building.
 Perhaps it's better so," he said at last. Did he get any cheerier be fore-he wentT
 "No. Afraid of every step on the veranda, of every knock at the door,"
 Again the attorney stared out of the window.
 And you? Are you afraid"
 "Of whatT
 The lawyer smiled.
 T don't know. Only" and he leaned forward-'it's just as though were living my younger days over again this morning. It doesn't seem any time at all since your father was sitting just about where you are now, and gad, Boy, how much you look like he looked that morningl The same gray-blue eyes, the same dark hair, the same strong shoulders. and good, manly chin, the same build-and look of determination about him. The call of adventure was in his blood, and he sat there all enthusiastic, telling me what he intended doing and ask ing my advice-although he wouldn't have followed 1t If I had given 1t. Back home was baby and the woman he loved, and out West was sudden wealth, waiting for the right man to come along and Ind 1t. Gadw White haired old Beamish chuckled with the memory of It. "Then four years later" the tone changed suddenly, "he came back"
 What then?" Fairchild was on the edge sof his chair. But Beamish only spread his hands.
 ''Truthfully. Boy, I don't know. I have guessed-but I won't tell you what. All I know Is that your father found what he was looking for and was on the point of achieving his ev- cry dream. when something happened. Then three men simply disappeared from the mining camp, announcing that they had failed and were going to hunt new dlggings. That was all. One of them was your father-"
 But you said that he'd found" --
 "Silver, running twenty ounces to the ton on an eight-inch vein which gave evidences of being only the be- ginning of a bonanzai I know, be- cause he had written me that, a month before"
 And he abandoned it?"
 He'd forgotten what he had writ ten when I saw him again. I didn't question him. He went home then, after giving me enough money to pay the taxes on the mine for the next twenty years, simply as his attorney and without divulging his where abouts. I did it. Eight years or so later I saw him in Indianapolis. He gave me more money-enough for eleven or twelve years"
 And that was ten years ago?" Rob- ert Fairchild's eyes were reminiscent. q remember-I was only a kid. He sold off everything he had, except the house."
 Henry Beamish walked to his safe and fumbled there moment, to re- turn at last with a few slips of paper
 Here's the answer" he said qul- etly, "the taxes are paid until 1922"
 Robert Fairchild studied the re- ceipts carefully-futilely. They told him nothing. The lawyer stood look ing down upon him; at last he laid a hand on his shoulder.
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