The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1923-07-30
By Charles G.. Norris.
the letter flut-
tered from her hands into

handkerchief to her eyes.
My poor mother-my poor,
poor mother" she sobbed.
There was an awkward interval.
Philip clasped and reclasped his
big hands and his palms became
moist with sweat r A woman's
tears always embarrassed him and
he was conscious of a vague
distress. He was catching
glimpse into a, chapter of his
fathers life in which he had no
part; he did not want to see; he
did, not want to know.
What was in the letter? He
glanced at it involuntarily, and
recognized his fathers strong and
definite handwriting. 1t was in
Spanish.
You must forgive me,', said
Maria Mendoza, drying her eyes
and struggling with her CULVER
ing breath. 1T just reminded me
We all lived . we had such
a pretty home-a hacienda with
a patio near Pajaro. There were
grapevines and peppers-and my
mother used to do her embroidery
for the Mission sitting under the
grapevine. There was an altar
cloth; she was years at work
over it, remember it all so
clearly. My little brothers were
living then, and my mother was
so happy when when Judge
Baldwin rode over from the mine.
Pedro was seven, so brave and
proud and tall, but my mother,
think, Thought most of the
little blue-eyed boy-her Samuel.
= They were both drowned,
you know, - :" in the marsh. :
That was in III, and then my
mother-weH, her mind was never
just right after that. We tried +.
the country for awhile and then
we came tcre-that's thirty years
ago.
Philip could find nothing to say.
He was dumb before this human
tragedy, so tersely summarized.
He pictured Dolores Mendoza
bending over her needle-work
in the f1ecked shadow Of the
grape arbor,-z the children-the
two beys playing in the hot sun
shine. the young girl at her
mothers elbow, the clatter of his
fathers horse suddenly startling
them. transporting them with
Joy. He though Of his mother,
of himself, of Harry and Lucy,
of the silent orchards and ripen-
ing fruit, Of the old weather
beaten home with its Towering
fuchsias and sweet-sweIling honey
suckle5 then of those others-the
thirty years of empty memories,
of patient living and colorless
existence of the loneliness and
dreariness, of shaken wits and
tireless devotion.
He pIodded horneward through
the noisy, brilliantly lighted
streets of the Latin quarter, in /;
different. to Insight and sound, pro-
foundry depressed. He pondered
upon his fathers life. his code
of conduct. He had been aware
from earliest boyhood-just how
he did not know-that the Judge
had had an adventurous career
in CALIFORNIA; early days. He
had listened many time to his
stories Of "Peg.leg" Smith and
that boisterous. tense .rollicking
time when the Eureka lode was
discovered,s and Jill Wench had
run her famous boarding house.
<father had known women.
many women; II was no secret.
The old man had a reputation
for having. been in his youth what
Derrnot Pheian once described
as a '1ady killer" Philip had
} taken # all for granted, as belong
ine-to the old 80 days, the Wild
West, as part Of the adventurous
life, to be happily recalled and
made wondrous and alluring now,
through the veil of time.
And now this ghost of the
past, A horny finger had parted
the veil and through the rent
had touched him rudely on the
shoulder His father-the grand
Eloquent Judge. Philip had al
ways admired his father-adnired
his amazing knowledge. his flow
cry speech. his extravagant ideas,
his lordly aristocratic bearing. It
was difficult to think of him
1s. being susceptible to human
weakness. His son was ready
enough TO forgive him for any
youthful escapades. A young man
I"I6 q