How Theodore Seabring Made Restitution

How Theodore Seabring Made Restitution By Everett Spring Bessie Price paced up and down the long room restlessly. She had vacillated for thirty minutes between the mantel, where the gilt pendulum of the clock swung tediously behind its crys- tal casing, and the richly curtained windows, which looked out upon Connecticut avenue. She was waiting for her mother to return. It was insufferable to Bessie to wait in such uncertainty. At last, as she turned impatiently from the windows, the portieres parted and Mrs. Price appeared. She sent a fleeting smile at Bessie, and then dropped into the nearest chair. She was white and trembling, but Bessie did not notice that. She moved toward her swiftly. "What happened?" she cried eagerly. "Have we got the money back?" Mrs. Price put her frail, white hand gently on her daughter's arm. Her soft, brown eyes were filled with trouble. This was hardest of all, that Bessie must be told. One could not prepare Bessie for disagreeable facts. She did not take them very well, but she must be told, but Mrs. Price faltered before she put the facts into words. "What happened?" repeated Bessie impatiently. "Tell me at once." "We shall not get the money back," said Mrs. Price, and her voice, though low, was firm. "Not get the money back?" echoed Bessie incredulously. The color fled from her brilliant, young face and her eyes flashed imperiously. Then she spoke in a dull, muffled voice. "Poor; we're poor! It means we'll have to give up this house, live in a stuffy little flat; no automobiles, no money for new clothes or theaters or travel. Poor." "But we'll still be happy, Bessie. We've got each other. We can make a home out of even a little flat." The mother's eyes and voice pleaded for reassurance from the girl, and her slender fingers closed lovingly over her outstretched palm. Bessie, half unconscious of the light touch, brushed her hand aside as she flung back both arms in a fierce gesture. "Oh, why did father leave all our money for Theodore Van Emmons to manage? He might have known."

HOW THEODORE SEABRING MADE RESTITUTION 1109 "Mr. Van Emmons was an old business and social friend of your father's, Bessie. There was no one in whom he felt he could place greater confidence. He spoke of it the night before he died — in his last conscious moments. He had talked it over with me before." "You knew it, then, before father died?" Bessie turned half accusingly toward her mother. "Yes, of course." "Oh, it's all too hideous," the girl burst out fiercely. "It does seem as if father might have known enough to pick out an honest man as administrator of his estate." "My poor Bessie!" Mrs. Price's eyes grew dim. Her deli- cate, wan face showed no self -concern ; all her feeling was for the girl and the way in which this terrible catastrophe would affect her. She had not remembered the changes which this sudden fading of a fortune would make in her own habits of a life-time. It was harder for Bessie; she was young and beau- tiful; it was right that she should never know money troubles. Her hand sought Bessie's again in silent consolation; but the girl held her face averted and bit her scarlet lips to keep back her tears. Somehow, her mother seemed to share the blame of her father's ill judgment. They did not look alike, this mother and daughter. The girl, in her mature, young womanhood, was of medium height, and finely built, with brilliant coloring and assured bearing; the mother, softly tinted and slender, with eyes and lips that might be merry if not so sad. "This morning it was agreed," began Bessie suddenly, "that Van Emmons' friends would refund the money. What has happened? Have they backed out?" "No, they were still willing to do so till — till the disclosure came this afternoon. We had met the judge, and he agreed to it, provided Mr. Van Emmons' past record was clear. That seemed a mere formality; everybody knew of his position social- ly and financially. Oh, Bessie, I was so happy, then; the money was almost back into my hands; all this dreadful worry over—" "And then?" prompted Bessie impatiently. Mrs. Price wound her slender, white fingers closely together. "And then, just at the point of recovery, the dreadful disclosure came; it was not his first offense." "What!" exclaimed Bessie breathlessly. •'Fifteen years ago he did the same thing: he had charge of trust funds and misappropriated them. A friend refunded all the money. He took an oath never to handle trust funds again, and was released. The matter was hushed up; your father

1110 IMPROVEMENT ERA. never knew it; nobody heard of it but the people concerned, and this friend." The girl sprang to her feet fiercely. "Father should have known it! He should have known everything about the man he made his trustee!" She buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud. Mrs. Price bent over her, her pale face lovely in its yearn- ing. An artist might have given half his fortune for the power to transfer to his canvas the sweetness of her eyes and lips, a^d ventured all his hope of immortality in a portrait of her as the modern Madonna of loving sacrifice. But Bessie did not look at her mother. When she lifted her face, her eyes were hard and bright and her voice was even. "Theodore Seabring was here this afternoon. I sent him away. He's coming back later. I think he meant to ask me to marry him. If he does, I shall say, yes." Mrs. Price's eyelids fell and hid the amazement that leaped into her soft brown eyes. She dropped into the nearest chair with a little smothered exclamation. It might have been the ex- haustion of the afternoon's ordeal conquering her self-control, or the too fragrant warmth of the big room, with its many flow- ers and crackling wood fire. Bessie did not notice. She was staring hard at the flames on the hearth. "He is much older than you, Bessie," said Mrs. Price at last. "Yes," returned Bessie indifferently; "two years older than you are. But he's rich and he's generous. And I am not willing to be poor." "Then you think he loves you?" Mrs. Price's voice was very low. "Why should he come here so much if he doesn't?" queried Bessie with a little laugh of assurance. "Wherever we've been this winter, he's appeared on the scene, by magic. It isn't all chance, mother. You can't expect me to believe that. And then, this afternoon, the first thing he asked was if you were out; he wanted to make sure I was alone." "Yes," said Mrs. Price quietly. "I sent him away. I knew what was coming, but I didn't want to answer him till I knew how this thing was to come out. I told him to come back later." Bessie's voice was hard. "Now we know, and my mind is settled." "You'll take him now because we're poor?" "Yes." "No pride, Bessie?" "Pride is a luxury which poor people can't afford," returned the girl. Mrs. Price's cheeks flamed, and a sudden scorn conquered

HOW THEODORE SEABRING MADE RESTITUTION 1111 the gentleness of her voice. "You'll accept him now, when sym- pathy or pity may make him speak? I would not." "Fortunately, it isn't you he wants to marry," said Bessie dryly. There was silence in the room till the sound of a dis- tant ringing bell roused the girl's attention. "It's Mr. Seabring!" she exclaimed. "He's tome now." Mrs. Price arose, her slender, black-robed figure showed short and frail against the splendid lines of Bessie's youth. But there was disdain in her gentle eyes and an immeasurable dig- nity in her motions as she crossed the room. "I'll go, Bessie. He will wish to see you alone." "No, stay!" the girl cried. "He'll have to know about this; I want you to tell him." / II. The shadows deepened in Mrs. Price's brown eyes and her lips quivered. Then she sat down again, and they waited till a maid announced Mr. Seabring. He was a tall, sparely built man in the middle forties, carrying with him a sense of outdoor fresh- ness and unaggressive independence. He greeted Bessie warmly, with a gay compliment and admiring eyes. Then he came across the room and held out his hand quietly to the mother. "You're not well!" he exclaimed with quick concern. "Just a little tired," she acknowledged, summoning a bright cheerfulness to her eyes and voice. "I'm going to presume upon my position as a friend of the family to demand the reason," he declared, taking the chair which Bessie motioned to him by her side. His eyes, of a pleasant gray, rested kindly on Mrs. Price. "What have you been doing to yourself?" "Mother has had a most trying afternoon," began Bessie, in her clear, colorless voice. And then, after a slight pause, Mrs. Price girded herself to her task. "We have been in great trouble lately." "Why haven't I known it?" asked Mr. Seabring warmly. "You should have told me at once." "It is for Bessie that it is harder. We have lost our fortune, Mr. Seabring. The last hope went this afternoon." "Tell me everything," he said quietly. "The old story," she continued, smiling faintly ; "trust funds misappropriated; absolute confidence suddenly, ruthlessly shaken, and then, the revelation, and the money irrevocably gone." "Has he taken much?" demanded Seabring. "Practically everything." "Outrageous!" His hand clenched in involuntary anger

1112 IMPROVEMENT ERA. against the unknown defaulter. "Has the fellow nothing? Is there no way of recovery?" "The last hope went this afternoon," answered Mrs. Price. "Friends of the man were willing to make up the deficit and refund the money. They stood by him loyally; were ready to do anything to save him, and then — " "Then?" queried Seabring sharply. "They discovered it was not his first offense. He has held an enviable position in the community, respected and trusted by every one; but fifteen years ago he stole from the funds of another estate. A friend, he seems never to have lacked friends, stood by him, refunded all the money, and saved him from pub- lic disgrace. He was let off under oath that he would never again accept such a position of responsibility." She smiled bravely. "It's rather unfortunate for us. You see, we thought we were the first ones; that we should get our money back. Just at the last moment this all came out. His friends were aghast at the discovery and withdrew their offer. The judge refused to consider leniency a second time." Mrs. Page did not look up as she told her little story; her slender hands were folded in her lap, and her eyes rested quietly upon them. Seabring's face was grave and deep lines stood out about his mouth. "The man's name?" he demanded sharply. "Theodore Van Emmons," she replied, without lifting her eyes. Seabring sprang to his feet. "My God!" he cried passion- ately. He came and stood in front of her chair. "You know?" he asked, in a thin voice. Mrs. Price lifted her eyes, and they rested an instant on 1 is, clear and gentle and tender. "Yes, I know," she said simply. "What do you know?" demanded Bessie, in amazement. "You have not told her?" asked Seabring, astonished. "No." Seabring's eyes grew tender as they met hers. Then he turned quickly to the impatient girl. "It means, Bessie, that I was the man who covered up Theodore Van Emmon's theft fifteen years ago, refunded the money, and kept his reputation clear." For an instant Bessie stared at him; then the vivid color spread over her animated face. "What right had you to con- ceal his crime?" she cried passionately. "What right had you to turn him loose to steal from innocent people, to take the money that belongs to mother and me? You've made us poor. It's all your fault that this has happened." "It is my fault," said Seabring humbly.

HOW THEODORE SEABRING MADE RESTITUTION 1113 Mrs. Price bent her head upon her hand. The room was reeling before her tired eyes. Something roared dully in her ears — poverty, poverty for Bessie." But Bessie was young and beautiful; Seabring loved her; Bessie would not be poor. III. Bessie was standing erect, defiant and angry; her bright eyes were hard as they rested on Seabring's white face and re- morseful eyes. "You've made us poor," she repeated bitterly. "My father would never have made that man his trustee if you hadn't shielded him from justice." "It is my fault," said Seabring quietly; "but I should like to tell you why I did it. I loved that man ; we grew up together and were close friends. When he went wrong, my one thought was to save him. He swore it was his misfortune rather than his crime, and I believed him. He promised me never again to ac- cept such a position. I couldn't let him sink, a young fellow with all his life before him. I couldn't have his name black- ened at the very start. I refunded the money. I thought I had saved him." "What right had you to be the judge?" cried Bessie in low- voiced passion. "You've ruined our lives, perhaps others, through your arrogance. I hate you. Oh, I hate you." "Stop, Bessie!" cried Mrs. Price, with flaming eyes. Her slender body was trembling with emotion and two crimson spots flared in her cheeks. The girl fell back instinctively, abashed. "Oh, I'm ashamed of you. How dare you speak like that to Mr. Seabring? You were willing, and I was willing, to let these other men refund the money that Van Emmons took from us. We were eager to get it back in any way we could. What thought had we of others whom it might imperil if he Was saved? We've no right to criticize. We thought only of saving our fortune — she turned impulsively to Seabring — you thought of saving a friend." A well of gratitude shone from Seabring's eyes. He turned and clasped her hand almost lovingly. "That's like your dear reasoning, Ruth. You're all that's sweet and tender and for- giving. But Bessie's right. I did do wrong. I was arrogant in my interference. God grant no other lives have been ruined through my action. I thought he'd keep straight. I've been away for many years and have not seen him. I never dreamed he had charge of your affairs. That he should make you— you of all people — his victims. Forgive me, if you can." "You're not to blame," said Mrs. Price, firmly. He held her hand fast in his, and then he looked across at

1114 IMPROVEMENT ERA. Bessie. "I came here this afternoon to ask a question. You'll both believe me when I tell you that — you've known what's brought me here so much this winter." He paused an instant. Bessie's passion, subsiding, left her half unconscious of the bitter things she might have said in her anger. It would all come out well. Seabring was rich; they would have money. She had been foolish to lose her temper as she had. But she knit her brows in growing anger as her moth- er's voice, quiet and gentle, broke in. "Don't say what you mean to, Theodore," she said quietly. "You're good and generous. We appreciate your sympathy, but we can't accept your money." Bessie's eyes flashed in anger at the chance her mother would let slip. "It isn't Theodore's money he's offering, mother. It's himself," she interrupted. "Bessie's right again," said Seabring gravely. "It's myself. Will you take me, Ruth?" And then, while Mrs. Price lifted amazed eyes and Bessie's face grew white, Seabring bent with unmistakable passion over the frail, slender woman and breathlessly waited for her answer. "But Bessie!" gasped Mrs. Price in dismay. "Bessie hates me for what I did," said Seabring, not taking his eyes from her face. "And you, Ruth?" "I — I love you for it," whispered Mrs. Price. And with that he gathered her in his arms. Sunbeams Be sure to gather up the sunbeams, That's strewn along your way; For they were put there just to bless you; And help you on your way. While walking in the slippery pathway Of life, we're apt to fall; We need those shining little sunbeams, To help us, one and all. How blessed are those little sunbeams, Each day they bring a ray, And when life seems so dark and dreary, They drive all cares away. Joseco, Nevada Matilda Matheivs