On Through the Years

ON THROUGH THE YEARS By Elsie Chamberlain Carroll Alice Mcrkley pressed the letter against her heaving breast, her small, blue-veined hands holding it close. The slender fingers twitched in her nervous effort at control. Her deep-brown eyes, saddened and hallowed by years of uncomplaining loneliness and heartache, looked out of the apartment window at the grey swirls of snow filling the December sky. At the sight of the leaden, snow-filled air, she closed her eyes and a quick, half-checked sob sent a quiver over her body. Somehow, snowflakes swirling through the air like that always brought back the torturing pain and cruel emptiness of that first hour of her widow- hood. After the blankness followed the shock — that in spite of all the love and prayers she had poured over him, Hal was gone — her first clear mental image had been of a swirling snowstorm. That had been eight years ago, and yet the memory and the pain were so vivid and tense at this moment that it almost seemed, if she should turn around, she would find. Hal lying there on the bed beside which she had knelt listening to the dear, brave words he had paused, at the very threshold of death, to whisper to her. It was so like Hal even at the gate of death to try to shield her from the in- evitable pain, and to make easier for her the lone, hard trail ahead. "You know, darling," he had breathed, "that if — thtre — is — any possible way — I — shall — come back to you — to be near you — and to — help — on through the years." Those had been his last, dear words; and in the desolation of the days and months and years that followed, when her soul had cried out in yearning for his physical companionships — for the sight ot his form, the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand and lips — she had been sustained by the assurance that his spirit was near. He had kept his promise, and had found a way! And, somehow, she had been able to endure her loss. At first the children, too, could feel his presence. They would talk of it among themselves, or to her in softened tones and with a sort of hallowed brightness in their eyes. Junior especially, had seemed to feel it, even more than the girls, in those early months. And how grateful she had been! . Junior and Hal had been such pals that her soul faltered when she thought of the void in her little son's life she could never hope to fill. "Mother," he used to say in the low, hushed tone she soon learned to recognize, "Mother, while I was fixing my skates — it — it — seemed just like daddy was there helping me — like he used to." Or, "Mother,

ON THROUGH THE YEARS 255 I was going to take a bird's nest today — and — it — seemed like daddy was there — and I knew — I shouldn't." How she had hoped the sacred contact might continue — that Junior might always have that blessed guidance to help him reach the heights they had dreamed for him. But eight years had passed, and eight years bring great changes to a boy who was twelve. She wondered if Junior ever now felt the nearness of the daddy he had worshiped. With a .doubting shake of her head, Alice Merkley clutched the letter at her breast and turned from the window which framed the whirling snow. She sank into a chair before the table in front ot the grate, and carefully spread the letter on her lap. She began read- ing through the lines once more with a dull hope that she might find a different meaning to the words: "Chicago, 111., December 19. "Dear mother — Please try not to be too disappointed at what I 'jm going to tell you. I know you have been anxious for me to finish college and go on for law, and you have worked and sacrificed to give me the chance to be here. And I do appreciate it, mother; I want you to try to believe that. "But I have come to a new way of looking at things, and this new view has changed my plans. • "I've mentioned Ted Houston and Pete Goreman in some of my letters — two of the fellows I met at Mrs. Erwin's at that house party on Thanksgiving. "Mother, do you know those fellows are making more money right now than I could make if I went to college a hundred years? They cleaned up about $25,000 each last year as easy as batting an eye. Think of that! And Ted's younger than I am, and Pete just a few years older. They've offered to take me in with them. "Now, mother, I know you have some Puritanic objections to horse-racing and what you call gambling, and all that old-fashioned stuff, but, please, Mother, for your own peace of mind, try to look at it sensibly. It's no more gambling and no more dishonorable than the way a good many of our respected politicians and business men make their living. "What's the use of grinding away here at college another year, and then grinding away at a profession with loads of worry and responsibility all my life, when I can drop into a snap like this? "Then there is something else I must tell you which makes it necessary for me to get out and make some money." At this point in her reading Alice Merkley closed her eyes and a little hurt moan passed her lips. Could she bear to read the next lines over again? "I have told you before," the letter went on, "how wonderful Mrs. Erwin is, and how 'great' she treated me at that house party

256 IMPROVEMENT ERA the first time I met her. She has done so many things for me since — getting me away from the eternal grind here at school and all that, and I've been to her place a lot — but I didn't know until a few days ago what we meant to each other. Mother, we love each other, and she is so unhappy I've got to do something to change things for her. Her husband never has understood or appreciated her — and he's so much older and is so exacting. No wonder her life is crushed — she so wonderful! We've decided to go away." Again Alice Merkley closed her eyes for a moment before she could go on. "I know you will think this is terrible, too — she being a married woman. But we can't help that. We love each other! That's all that seems to matter. I'm going to take her to Tennessee when I go with Pete and Ted. "Now, mother, won't you try to see this in the right way? There will be a divorce soon and then we can be married and every- thing will be all right." "All right!" The mother sobbed the words as she crumpled the letter and got unsteadily to her feet. "All right!" Her Junior in a mesh like this! Oh, she couldn't endure it. All her dreams — Hal's dreams — for him shattered! His life ruined on the very threshold of his promising manhood! It must not be! She must find a way to save him! Back and forth she paced the little room. Should she go to him? Could she make him see the terrible chasm into which he was about to plunge? December 19, his letter had been dated. It was now the 21st. He said they were going Christmas Eve. There was a possibility that she might reach the city in time. But if she did, what would be his reaction to her interference? Would he resent it? Of that she was miserably quite certain. He was no longer the trusting baby, nor the dependent child, eager for her helping hand. He thought he was a man. He had exaggerated ideas of his own strength, and he was touched with a boy's first passion. Oh, she was afraid! she was afraid! She must not permit herself to think of the sickening possibilities. Something must be done! She could not let her boy — Hal's boy, so wonderfully like Hal himself — she could not let him go to ruin while she stood idly by. And yet her hands seemed tied. If only Hal could have stayed. His high standards and ideals would have been Junior's natural heritage. But she was so helpless! so alone! The futility of it all was heartbreaking. Suddenly the need of Hal so overwhelmed her that she stretched out her arms crying: "O Hal, Hal, I need you so, I need you so!" as she sank into her chair by the table and buried her face in her arms. For long minutes the room was filled with the sound of her moaning sobs. She wept as she had not wept for years.

ON THROUGH THE YEARS 257 At last came the calm of exhaustion — or was it that? She lifted her head and gazed once more from the window at the swirling snow. Again that vivid sense impression of her loss, but this time more clearly than ever before, not the memory of her that whole tragic hour, but of Hal's last, brave, comforting words: "I shall be near you — to help you — on through the years." She took in a long breath. She was conscious of a strange calm which was quieting the tumult of her soul. What could it mean? We she forgetting Junior's peril? Or was — Oh, was Hal really there — as he had so often been during the first dark years when she had most needed him? Suddenly she became aware of the fact that her fingers were touching a silver frame that stood on the table. In the frame was a poem Hal had clipped from a magazine, years ago. He had called it his "creed" and had kept it always on his desk in the office. Alice Merkley caught her breath; a great light broke over her tear-stained face. She sprang up, clasping the frame to her heart. "I understand — darling! Oh, I understand!" ***** "You're sure you'll be there by the 27th? You see, if we can't depend on you we'll have to take someone else. There's too many details for two of us to handle. It will take Pete's full time to watch the bulls and see that everything we do appears to be open and on the square." Ted Houstons' face looked searchingly into Harold Merkley's. "Sure,. I'll be there!" Harold protested with spirit. "Haven't I signed your papers? What's put it into your head that I'll 'welch'?" "Oh, it's this confounded love affair you've got mixed in. You never can tell what a guy will do when he's wrapped around a woman's little finger. I wish to the deuce Babe Erwin had let you alone. I don't suppose you'll be worth anything to us anyhow, now you've fallen for her." "That's where you're off your base, Ted," said Harold, resent- fully. "I'll be worth a darned sight more because of her. I've got to succeed to give her the things she's been used to. She'll be an incentive for me to do things I never would have dared attempt before." "Pooh, pooh, buddy. Don't you know you're just a kid getting your eye teeth cut? J know a thing or two about Babe Erwin." "Hold on there, Ted," cried Harold springing to his feet and with a dangerous fire flashing in his brown eyes. "Remember you can't hint like that to me." "Oh, sit down, buddy. I'll shut up; but can't you see how it's interfering with our plans right now. If it wasn't for your idiotic determination to drag Babe along, you could go with me now and we'd get things all lined up a couple of days earlier.

258 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Then you're taking such blooming chances with a married woman, too. What if old man Erwin gets wind of it?" "There's not a chance in the world that there'll be a hitch. We've spent too much time on the details. Old Erwin is out of town. At 12:15 tonight I'll take a Southern Limited. Eight minutes later Babe will take the Express. In two hours we'll meet in Streator, and will join you at Chattanooga not later than the afternoon of the 27th — in plenty of time for the iirst big race." "Yes, but the question is, Will you be any good to us after you get there?" "You don't need to worry about me," assured Harold, "I'll tell you that you and Pete are not going to be sorry you took me in on this thing. I've got to make good and I'll show you I can." "Well, here's hoping." Houston held out his hand. "If any- thing should happen, wire us at the Bender Hotel." "Nothing's going to happen. Goodbye. Sorry Pete got off before I saw him again." Ted Houston left the room and Harold Merkley went back to the interrupted packing of his trunk. On the floor at one side of the trunk was a pile of college text-books, laboratory journals1, and note books jumbled together with pennants, posters, athletic schedules and dance programs. As the young man went on with his packing he kept adding to this heap as he continued to go through remaining drawers and shelves of dresser and desk. Finally the room was dismantled and he closed and locked the trunk. He had begun to put a few remaining articles of clothing into a traveling bag when the telephone rang. He sprang to the receiver and answered tremulously: "Hello — Babe — what is it? You are sure nothing is wrong? I know, but every time the 'phone rings I'm scared to death you've changed your mind or something. Well, I may be silly — but I'll keep worrying and being scared to death until we're safely away. 1 keep wondering if I won't wake up pretty soon and find I've just been dreaming. Yes — yes, I'm all packed — just have to burn a pile of rubbish, then I'll sit around and count the seconds until I shall see you. Say, can't we meet some place for just a few minutes — it will seem ages. Well, of course, if you think it won't be safe — but gosh — I can't wait. Can't I even call you on the 'phone — well, you be sure and call me every time you dare. Goodbye." He turned with a subdued little whistle back to the desk. From the corner he drew a waste basket into which he began stuffing the books and journals piled on the floor. A knock at the door interrupted. Grudgingly he went to answer it. "Mr. Harold B. Merkley," announced the familiar voice of the postman. "A special delivery parcel. Sign here, please."

ON THROUGH THE YEARS 259 Harold hastily signed his name, eager to be rid of this intruder. "Three guesses that it's some more Christmas from the little mother," volunteered the good-natured postman as he shifted his heavy pack and turned to the stairs. Harold closed the door and tossed the parcel to the table. He was about to resume his task of filling the basket, but a little troubled pucker had come between his brows. It was the postman's mention of his mother that had brought it, and the reminder of the Christmas box which had come a few days before. He would rather not think of his mother just now. Of course, she couldn't be expected to understand and approve what he was doing. He'd have to reconcile himself to that. She was of the older generation. Times had changed- too rapidly for her to be expected to keep up with modern ways. And then she always had been very particular in regard to certain moral dogmas. She'd received his letter, of course, by now. This parcel had evidently been sent before she knew he was going away. It was doubtless something she had forgotten to put into her customary Christmas box with its well chosen sox and ties and exquisitely made silk shirt. She was a peach of a little mother with all her old-fashioned ideas and narrow way of looking at things, which was going to make it hard for her now. His heart was suddenly flooded with a wave of tender appreciation and love. He straightened up from his task and went to the table. He'd take just a minute to see what she'd sent. With his pocket knife he cut the twine from the parcel and began unwrapping the layers of paper and cardboard. When the last wrapping had been removed he stood with a silver frame in his hands in which was a poem written in archaic lettering. A queer, vague memory began to stir within him. What was it? He had seen it before; but when, where? Then the recollection came with a rush. With a quick in- taking of his breath he sank to a chair and for a moment he felt dizzy and faint. The picture that flashed before his mind was of his father's office, in the long years past. He was a little chap of six and he was asking his father about the beautiful, shining leaves in this frame. His father had lifted him to his knee and had said: "When you are older, sonny, you'll see something in this more beautiful than the frame. The words framed here are my creed of life, and I hope they will be yours." He recalled that he had asked what "creed" means, and, while his father was explaining, a client had come in and he had been sent home to mother. A look of loneliness and loss stole into Harold Merkley's eyes. He had not thought of his father for months; but now he was aware of that feeling of nearness he had known so often as a child. He

2 60 IMPROVEMENT ERA sat very still in the silent room, permitting the almost forgotten feeling to grow. How he had adored the daddy of those early years. His mouth grew soft and wistful. There was childish faith and trust in his eyes. After a few long moments of this strange, sweet remembering, he brought his eyes to the words within the frame. It was called THE ROUND OF LIFE — a Christmas musing set down by Richard Wightman: "To lift athirst the brimming glass of life and drain it, dregs and all, with smack of smiling lip and slap of knee; "To bend over the stream of trade and wrest from it my gold, clean-handed, zestfully, as one who takes equivalents — not more — for what he gives; "To hear attent the silenti cry of those who lack, dividing food and faggots and the couraged word; "To look well to my sowing, knowing sure that each small seed by law immutable begets its kind — and multiplied at that; "To shrine my woman high, and touch her flesh with prayer, as well as passion." He went on line by line to the end. Before Harold Merkley had finished reading the lines, his breath was coming faster, and beads of perspiration were beginning to stand on his brow. His father's creed! And how truly had his father embodied those high principles into his every-day, practical way of living. His father — honored and respected by his fellowmen; adored by his family; the ideal of Harold's own early dreams of manhood. "To be like daddy," had been the great goal of his young years. Slowly a crimson flush stole over his face as his eyes scanned back up the page, stopping here and there: "To shrine my woman high, and touch her flesh with prayer, as welt as passion." ***** "To bend above the stream of trade and wrest from it my gold clean-handed, zestfully, as one who takes equivalents — not more — r*or what he gives." There came to him the memory of the disappointed and sorrow- ing expression he had seen on his father's face, a few times in the brief years of their companionship, when he had done something unworthy ot himself. He never could endure that look. Always he had on those occasions thrown his arms about his father's neck, crying: "Daddy, I'm sorry. Don't look like that! I won't do it any more!" He was conscious of a kindred feeling now. The things which a few moments before had seemed logical, blameless, now made him

ON THROUGH THE YEARS 261 shudder. That hurt, reproving, sorrowing look of his father's seemed to be burning into his soul. Harold Merkley bowed his head over the silver frame and dry sobs shook him. The telephone jangled. At first he did not heed. It jangled again more persistently. He got to his feet at last and started to the desk. He stopped at the mantle and looked at the pictured face of the blonde woman. The telephone kept ringing. He stood irresolutely, a mighty struggle in his soul. Then he turned and picked up the receiver. ***** It was Christmas morning. Outside the world was still and white. Alice Merkley opened her eyes and lay wondering what was the burden which had troubled her sleep. Then it came back — her anxiety for Junior. Where was he this morning? Was he speeding away with another man's wife to join a gambling ring — -or had he been saved by her love and the protecting memory of an adored father? She dared not let herself hope. There must be, perhaps, long hours and days of waiting and fear — then perhaps the shattering of all she had worked and prayed and sacrificed to build. And it was Christmas day. The day of peace. Oh, if only she might have the peace of knowing her boy was saved. On the dresser and table were stacked presents and letters and cards from the girls who had begged her to come to them; from friends far and near who never forgot. But she had no heart to open them. There was nothing from her boy, when all it would take to bless the day would be an assurance that he had been spared to her in his manhood and honor. Finally she arose and listlessly put on her clothes. She went to the tiny kitchenette to prepare her breakfast; but returned with the task unaccomplished. She could not eat. She sat listlessly in a chair by the window. Had it all been purely her imagination and longing that had brought Hal's helping presence to her that day of her distraction over Junior's danger? Hadn't Hal been there at all? Hadn't he been near her on those other occasions when she had been so sure? Oh, but to know that he knew! To be sure he was sometimes as near as he seemed! To feel the sustaining comfort of that assurance that he had found his way back and was helping her on through the years! If she had been mistaken that day he had seemed to suggest sending his "creed" to Junior- — if he had not been there then — he bad not been near on those other occasions, and she couldn't bear to think of life stripped of that blessed assurance.

262 IMPROVEMENT ERA If Junior was lost, her faith would be shattered; and the sustain- ing power of her whole life gone. As she sat in this agony of dread, Alice Merkley saw a messenger boy coming up the street. He bore a yellow envelope in his hand. He turned in at the walk. She heard his ring at the door and the next moment the landlady was calling for her. Instinctively she knew the message was from her boy; but even after it was in her trembling fingers she couldn't bring herself to open it. So much depended upon the words she would find therein. At last she compelled herself to break the seal. Hesitatingly she unfolded the sheet and brought her eyes to the typed words: "Mother Darling: I'm coming home for a few days. Forget the 'bunk' I wrote last. Must see you, and want to talk with Judge Hartley about plans for after college. Arrive 12:10 Christmas. Lovingly, Junior." There is Good in Every Heart Though way down a fellow falls, There is. something yet that calls To his conscience, now and then, Lifting up his heart again. Something rousing faith and hope, That with trials he may cope, Something that these words impart — "There is good in ev'ry heart!" Though some persons, in our view. An abhorrent trade pursue: Though one's record oft has been A reproachful one of sin: Though one's countenance betrays Character of shameful ways: Charity shall yet impart — "There is good in ev'ry heart!" Innocent as any child Ere temptation has beguiled Were all those who are maligned As the outcasts of mankind. More or less we're all astray From the more enlightened way — Let our kindest thoughts impart "There is good in ev'ry heart!" Los Angeles, Calif. JOSEPH LONGKING TOWNSEND.