Homing

Front matter

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Chapter 1 I

To take Stuart Blake on his wedding night at the age of twenty-one, and to under¬ stand something of the personality and character of the man, and why things hap¬ pen as they do, is to necessitate becoming acquainted with the people and circum¬ stances which influence his life.

Among those whose influence was strongest, was his school days sweetheart, Mary Langford, though the great person¬ ality of his uncle, Henry G. Slader, stood out foremost. Since a little boy Stuart had looked up to this man as a prince of the great financial world, and to follow his standard had been the boy’s greatest ambition.

Henry G. Slader had come to America from a small town in Germany when he was five years old. With him his father, mother and two sisters, Magda and Eveline.

They were people of very moderate means. Henry Slader had saved and planned to get together the money that would take him and his little family to that great country America,—the land of ‘unlimited possibilities’—where his little Henry would have his chance—an equal chance —tc succeed.

The country where a great fertile brain may come into its own regardless of class, capital or labor. Brain! the great mental force; the world’s driving power.”

The Sladers settled in a cottage near some friends on the outskirts of Paterson, New Jersey.

The girls—Eveline who was sixteen and Magda who was fourteen—got work in one of the great mills. Through the influence of their friends, old Slader became book¬ keeper in one of the mills, while Mother Slader kept everything spick and span in the little unpretentious home.

She had her serious troubles with little Henry who had to be pulled out of more fights in the street and could get dirtier than any other boy in the neighborhood, but all the same he was the prince and pride of the Slader family. Every thought was for Henry.

Henry was rapidly developing into an independent: he was a boss fighter: could fight his way through wildcats.

He earned his first money in America at the age of seven, when he would draw a ring with a piece of chalk and give an ex¬ hibition prize-fight, to which all of his friends paid their pennies for admission. The ring was in the backyard of his home. He had an agreement with his opponent by which he divided the proceeds with him. He saved his money, each penny being carefully deposited in his bank—a green stone pig.

One day Henry found that his green stone pig was full to the brim; it wouldn’t hold another cent. It was a pretty good-sized pig, and Henry had been one whole year filling it, and as he was getting tired of being the neighborhood champion, he took the pennies he had so desperately fought for, and as he expressed it, ‘went into the newspaper business.*

After school hours, when he was through with a hurried supper, he sold his papers from a soap box, which he placed near the railway station in the path of the incoming passengers, among whom very soon his keenness and joviality won him popularity.

Henry had a remarkable brain and was a natural born student; he always headed his classes at school and finally rushed ahead with his studies at such a terrific rate that his fifteenth year found him a high school graduate.

By this time the soap-box news-dealer had become the proprietor of a full fledged news-stand, which could be closed up and locked at night and on which were displayed all the popular magazines and various other articles.

The boy was a big strapping athlete, his only physical defect apparently was his eye¬ sight, which defect unquestionably was accentuated by the strain of constant study. Finally he had to wear glasses; at first only while studying, but later all the time. Be¬ cause he graduated from high school did not mean that he stopped studying; he continued with the same untiring zeal.

One year after he graduated he sold his news stand at quite a profit and took a posi¬ tion in the office of a big Wall Street bank¬ ing house.

His duties were to keep the desks of the great financier’s office clean and in order;

pencils, pens, ink and stationery always supplied, and things properly dusted.

But there were things which interested Henry more than the dust which came drifting in through the windows from the great street below, and settled on Mr. M’s enormous silver inkwell and expensive desk furnishings.

They were balance sheets with enormous figures; telegrams and cables which told of business transactions which meant millions of dollars; statements with figures neatly written in red ink, five and six figures glaring up at him as though they were written in blood, shelves filled with books containing valuable information.

One day the great financier called in his office manager and pointed to the thin layer of dust over his desk, the stationery which had not been replenished, and the inkwell actually dried up.

“You will have to get another office boy, Craig; I can’t be annoyed with this numb¬ skull. I have spoken to him three times about his carelessness. He said his eyesight is bad and he could not see the dust. . . .1 was sorry for him and let it go, but I can’t be annoyed any longer!”

II

Henry could not see the dust, but he could see the figures following the dollar sign, and while he did not gather up much dust he did gather up much information.

He continued to study, he took a secre¬ tarial course in a New York night school, and finally, after holding various different positions, became private secretary to one of the biggest railroad financiers in the country. He remained in that position for three years, continued saving his money, and at the age of twenty-five opened his own office in Wall Street. The brass plate on the door announced: “H. G. Slader, Investments.”

In the meantime his elder sister, Eveline, had been married to Walter Blake, the serious young minister of the church the family attended in the suburbs of the old factory town. Their marriage had been blessed with two children.

It was in later years that Reverend Blake had managed to be transferred to the village church near his old homestead at Valley View.

Henry’s younger sister had died of pneumonia during their second year in America, and as soon as things began to come his way he moved his mother and father into a comfortable flat uptown, forever leaving behind them the early struggles.

From then on his success became one of the outstanding features in Wall Street.

Chapter 2 I

On Stuart Blake’s wedding night the home of the millionaire railroad financier, Henry G. Slader, was a blaze of light. Perched among other palaces of wealth on Riverside Drive, its brilliant lights reflected on the shadowy Hudson River far below.

It was just twenty-two years since Henry Slader, the little Paterson newsboy, had moved his mother and father to New York, and had gone into business for himself.

He had married fifteen years ago into a family of great financial influence, but no children had blessed the union, and he idolized his nephew Stuart Blake, who displayed many of his uncle’s characteris¬ tics—a fact which was very pleasing to the latter.

The Reverend Blake and his family were house guests at the great Riverside man¬ sion until after the wedding.

In the banquet hall there were covers laid for over a hundred guests. With the ex¬ ception of a few close friends of the Blakes, the guests were friends of the Sladers. People of power in the financial world; not of the four hundred set, but of the thousands of brain workers of the great army of com¬ merce.

The immense hall of the big house had been turned into a June rose garden; an improvised altar had been formed at one end of the big room under a bower of pink bride’s roses and Southern smilax. All the lights were shaded by rose-colored wedding bells.

Behind a group of marvelous palms a sweet voiced soprano sang “Oh Promise Me,’’ accompanied by a stringed orchestra.

Then from the great organ in the music room beyond came the strains of the wed¬ ding march from “Lohengrin,’’ and the hangings were thrown back to admit the bridal procession.

There was a little thrill of admiration as the guests beheld the beautiful little bride. Leaning on the arm of her future husband’s uncle she looked like a lily clad in rainbow robes.

Stuart received his bride with a smile which was heavenly to see.

When the Reverend Walter Blake in his clear sincere voice began to read the service, there was something beautifully solemn in the whole atmosphere as he said:

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony; an honor¬ able state instituted of God in the time of man’s innocence, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt God and His Church; which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with His presence and first miracle that He wrought in Cana of Galilee and is commended of Saint Paul to be hon¬ orable among men; and is therefore not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly and in the fear of God!”

“Into this state these two persons present come now to be joined. If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him speak now or hereafter forever hold his peace. . . .

As the ceremony went on to the end Mary (Little Saint Mary as she was usually called), the deserted sweetheart of Stuart’s boyhood, sobbed out her heart, her face buried deep in the sweet fresh June clover down behind the old spring-house at Valley View, with only God as witness to the anguish in her heart.

In the mansion on Riverside Drive happiness reigned supreme.

Velora Allen, who had deliberately stolen Mary Langford’s lover, was a beautiful and happy bride. It was her supreme moment. In a whirl of lace and flowers and music she was a queen reigning on the throne of love and beauty.

She loved Stuart in her light little way; he was a dear fellow; he was clever, and generous, and a divine dancer. She had been taught that it was just as easy to love a man with the possibility of a brilliant future as a good-for-nothing ne’er-do-well.

After the wedding supper the bride and groom were escorted by a few of their friends and relatives to the big ocean liner, which was to sail for Europe at seven o’clock the next morning.

Stuart’s uncle had planned to send his nephew abroad for three months to study and report on railroad conditions in Europe;

also to make business connections there as the representative of his uncle’s firm. It was to be a sort of combination business trip and honeymoon.

II

It was two o’clock in the morning when Stuart, very softly knocked on the door which connected his stateroom with that of his bride’s. As there came no answer, he gently opened the door.

He expected almost anything, but what greeted his startled eyes.

Her traveling suit had been hurriedly thrown on a chair, her shoes and stockings were in the middle of the floor; hats, gloves and bits of fluffy lingerie were carelessly thrown about and on the bed; sound asleep was his bride.

She was a fairer vision of loveliness than he had ever dreamed of. The June breeze drifted in through the open window and toyed with the golden ringlets about her rosebud face. Her beautiful hair had been loosened and flowed out over the pillow, forming a golden, shimmering mass to re¬ ceive her statuesque little body.

There she lay like the tired little butterfly she was, robed in a garment of pink-tinted fluff, which might have been fashioned from the gauzy wings of butterflies; every soft, perfect curve of her delicate body gleaming through its transparent beauty.

Stuart leaned against the door and feasted his eyes on this beautiful possession of his. Her exquisite breasts like two tropical flowers behind a rose-colored cloud: how we would admire them on a sculptured statue in the art galleries, but how much more wonderful in the soft living loveliness of God’ s own creation.

“God’s own masterpiece of creation,” thought Stuart, as he gently bent over and gathered her in his arms like a delicate flower.

She fluttered a little like a captured bird, but he drew her to his glowing heart and pressed his burning lips to hers until she lay submissive in his strong arms.

And so Fate added another to the list of those who mistake the damning desire of manhood for the pure love of a clean heart. Another who was to face the tragedy of dis¬ illusionment, when physical attraction is no more to light the fires of passionate appeal!

The voyage was a happy one for the bride and groom. Velora enjoyed being petted and spoiled by her adoring husband. She enjoyed the novelty of being a bride; the whispers of the passengers as she passed by leaning on Stuart’s arm; she knew they were saying: “There goes the bride and groom.’’

Sometimes she would catch a word: “Isn’t she a pretty little thing?’’ or: “They seem to be very devoted,’’ or: “Surely there is nothing like love’s young dream!’’

She enjoyed all the pretty clothes; the tantalizing fluffy feminine things which she donned in the privacy of her room; she loved to be able to excite that flame in her husband which burned until his whole body was aglow, and he would crush her madly to him and drink deep of the wine of her red lips and feel her heart throbs against his breast: the mad ecstacy of Youth.

Chapter 3 I

For hours Mary Langford lay out under the canopy of stars. She drenched the sweet clover blossoms with her tears on Stuart’s wedding night. She rejoiced at the dead day; to the night she gave a glad greet¬ ing; it brought sweet solace to a tortured soul, for in its dark shadows she could hide her grief.

What is death compared to the agony of a breaking heart and a tortured soul?

To Velora it was a night of joy and glad¬ ness : to Mary it was a night of sorrow, suf¬ fering and tears. To her it seemed that even God had forgotten. But “Surely, the Great Invisible King knoweth best when and where to weave joy and despair into the scheme of things,” thought Mary, “and in His divine wisdom He knoweth that sorrow is but the real test and real happiness its sure recompense;” but no philosophy could ease the pain in her heart at that moment.

To Mary life was a black chaos; her heart was sick and sore; her mind distorted. She dug her fingers into the tall damp clover and whispered: “I am going mad; my brain can’t stand the aching of my heart.”

To her distorted mind it seemed that Hell had given up all its shriveled souls, to ges¬ ture and mock at her in fiendish glee. Gob¬ lins glared and gibed from out of the gloom; monstrous bats, fierce-eyed and heavy¬ winged, flitted hither and thither; every¬ where wreck and ruin, desolation and black despair.

II

Storm-clouds hid the stars, and out of the black night there came no sound but the sob of a breaking heart.

Suddenly, the storm broke. The wind in the tree tops roared, shrieked and groaned. The branches cracked and bent, and big raindrops beat down through the darkness.

Through it all Mary lay as though numb and half dead, recalling all the happy days of her childhood, crushed by the disappoint¬ ment, heartache and despair of the present.

The storm without was nothing to the storm raging within her heart. She turned and let the wind and rain beat on her face.

The thunder rolled and roared; the wind whipped the trees and bent the clover at her feet; fierce flashes of lightning ripped gashes in the black sky.

The wind, the trees and the storm are all my friends,” she thought; ‘‘they are do¬ ing all my screaming and beating for me. It is the most glorious battle I ever wit¬ nessed.”

A great flash of lightning struck a nearby oak, splitting its sturdy body from the top¬ most bough to its huge trunk.

As the storm raged on, it seemed to soothe her troubled soul. She lay there perfectly still until it was over.

Presently the moon came gliding out from behind the clouds flooding the stormtossed forest with silvery rays, and in its glorious light Mary’s agonized soul rose to the infinite oneness with God.

Mary felt that she had never been so near the Divinity; she knew that the Great Re¬ deemer had not forgotten. A great peace had come into her heart. As she rose in ecstacy and stood in holy admiration of Nature’s majesty she knew that she was going to take up her cross and bear it bravely to the end.

Ill

She rose and started down the wet woods lane, running every step of the way home, her clothes dripping, and her hair streaming.

Upon arriving at the house she tiptoed in and, after a hot bath, donned a warm dress¬ ing gown, threw open the old French win¬ dows, and stepped out on the balcony into the serenity of the June night.

There was no sign of the recent storm ex¬ cept the perfume of the rain-drenched roses and jasmine from the old-fashioned garden below.

The hills were forming a shadowy cres¬ cent around the bend of the river. The moon was its silveriest and greatest, as it touched the pine trees with mellow light, and glorified the beauty of the landscape.

Though actually suffering, there came to Mary such an unspeakable ethereal light¬ ness and buoyancy; such a thrill of joy as she gazed out on all this quiet beauty of God’s creation, that even pain was pleasure.

She stood a long time in silent admira¬ tion. Then out of the silence, came the call of the whip-poor-will. . . “Whip-

poor-will—whip-poor-will! ’ ’

“What a wondrous thing is hope,” thought Mary, “how easily it overcomes all obstacles; bridges oceans; spans continents; gilds transgressions and rights wrongs; achieves the impossible, and paves the fu¬ ture with golden promise!”

And with what sweet insistance the mel¬ ody of that night bird appealed to her, as though it were the echo of all her hopes, desires and love, crying out.

“Live! live! Is there not still another day in which to undo? Another horizon whose skies of blue will help me forget: an¬ other leaf in life on which Fate may write her kindest message after all?”

And again came the call of the whip-poor-will, and once again, farther away this time, out of the dim distance,

“Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! ’ ‘

Out of the quiet beauty this great and helpful philosophy came to the assistance of poor little Saint Mary:

“Disappointment is of times a two-edged blade, and yet if the wound never heals, time cures the hurt. That, for which we strive most is not always best, and life is always well worth living if we play our part well.”

“Loss of hope means decay. No matter how precious the treasure lost, duty stands ever on guard, pointing the way to human helpfulness; to action and interest. Not to brooding discontent nor to sullen surren¬ der, but to love and not to cynicism.”

“I have my music, my flowers and all of God’s glorious out-of-doors, and I shall ever fefcep a great pure love within my heart. I shall rise above yesterday, because I know that God is Love and all is well.”

“Behold,—another dawn” . . . and

as Mary closed her window and knelt to pray she heard the low and plaintive call “Whip-poor-will”: it seemed like a pledge of the fullfillment of her prayer. • • •

Chapter 4 I

Stuart was well established in Tennessee. He had worked hard and success was crown¬ ing his efforts. His uncle had made him vice-president of a railroad down there of quite some importance.

The first year had been a very happy one for the Blakes. They had rented a beauti¬ ful old colonial place, the beautiful Mrs. Blake had become quite a society queen, and young Blake was well liked among the men.

He had become known as a hustler and a man with grit; with the courage of his con¬ victions.

But, life is not meant to be clear sailing from the cradle to the grave.

At the close of the first year of her mar¬ riage, Velora knew that she was to become a mother. The knowledge rather annoyed her; she wanted children because she really wanted to please her husband and she knew he longed for a son, but, “why must it be now?” she thought, “just when I am having such a wonderful time, and I shall be obliged to miss all the gaiety of the social season! I shan’t be able to go out at all next winter! What a nuisance!’’

Then, for the first time since she could remember, she wept a little: finally she de¬ cided to keep her secret as long as she pos¬ sibly could, even from her husband.

In those days the wasp-like waistline was in vogue, and, with the help of the corset lace, Velora actually concealed her condition for three months. At last she was obliged to tell her husband, and as she began to get a little nervous and afraid, she asked Stuart to send for her mother.

II

Mrs. Allen arrived a month later. She was a sensible woman, who had obtained her wisdom in the hard, cold, cruel school of experience. She found Velora still lacing into her beautiful tight-waisted gowns, flut¬ tering out to all the social functions, and immediately took the situation in hand.

Two more bedrooms were brought into service at once; one for Mrs. Allen and one for Stuart. Old Uncle Bill and Aunt Har¬ riet were kept on the go, airing and cleaning, and getting the nursery done over.

Mrs. Allen was looking forward with much joy and excitement to her first grand¬ child.

She crocheted, and knitted, and hem¬ stitched, until the sewing room looked like a display sale of infants wear.

For the first time since their marriage Stuart and Velora occupied separate bed¬ rooms, and, as has happened many times before in the lives of husbands and wives, they never again shared the same bedroom. There was nothing ever said about it; they just didn’t.

Mrs. Allen insisted that Velora should dispose of the tight corsets and gowns; that she should dress in such a way as to insure the health of herself and the expected child.

Under protest Velora accepted the situa¬ tion, canceled all social engagements and dressed as her mother advised.

Stuart was glad of this for many reasons. It would give him evenings at home and en¬ able him to work; he had to make good now more than ever, and for a young fellow starting out with the responsibility of a fam¬ ily, and a rather important position, to make good meant hard work.

He still adored Velora, or at least thought he adored her; though in reality it was only her prettiness which charmed his youth, and was to be the great tragedy of their union.

At last the eventful day arrived. The stork called on Velora one bright chilly March morning, just as the sun peeped up over the hills to bring its light and warmth to the awaiting world. It was just possible that Velora had never had her wonderful big violet eyes open so early in the morning before.

“What a strange thing is Life,” thought Stuart as he sat down-stairs as so many anx¬ ious husbands and fathers have done before, anxiously awaiting for news from the cham¬ ber of the miracle of life.

Ill

“Why should we be born of woman’s agony? Sheltered and nurtured only to pay a final debt in full,” thought Stuart, as he pondered on. “Always striving for the unattainable,—damned by desire and con¬ sumed with dread.”

Consumed with dread he was, afraid for the life of his beautiful little wife.

He rose and paced up and down the floor.

“What a fearsome thing is life,” he thought; “if that little woman should die I would feel like a murderer.”

Just then an agonizing scream rent the stillness followed by a baby’s feeble cry, and a great, ‘“Thank God,” came from the lips of Stuart Blake. It was breathed from his very soul.

For two hours,—hours that had seemed like years, he had waited there in fear and dread while the doctor and old colored nurse fought to save the life of his wife and first born; he was grateful for that agonizing scream that told him his wife still lived, and the feeble little wail which conveyed the news of Motherhood.

In the room above, old Aunt Harriet was saying: “Mrs. Allen, yo’ jes’ go down an’

tell poah Mr. Stuart dat he’s got a boy, an’ den yo’ lay down a spell. I kin tek care of ’er now. 1’se gwine ter wash an’ dress de chile whilst she’s drapped off ter sleep.”

She turned to the doctor, “Yo’ better tek a little res’ too.” She opened the door to a spare-room and motioned him in.

For twelve hours they had not left the side of Velora’s bed and the last two hours her life had hung by a thread. Now that the danger was over, they all began to feel the severe strain and were glad to leave things in the hands of old Aunt Harriet, whose store of energy and strength seemed inexhaustible.

“1 believe I will take a little rest,’’ said the doctor, “but don’t forget to call me the mo¬ ment Mrs. Blake awakens.’’

Velora’s mother went downstairs and smiling through her tears informed her sonin-law that he was the father of a boy, and that his wife would live, though the confine¬ ment had been a very dangerous one.

They rejoiced together for a few mo¬ ments, and then Stuart went out to tele¬ graph his father, mother and uncle.

“Its a boy. Mother and son are doing well,’’ the wire ticked off.

Two hours later Aunt Harriet appeared in the living room with all the importance of a black princess.

“Yo* kin come an’ see yoah chile. Fo* de Lawd’s sake, Mr. Stuart, yo’ sho’ do look like you done had dat chile yo’self !*’

“Instead you settin’ here takin’ yoah ease wile we-all bin strugglin’ ter bring dat chile inter de wol’ widout killin’ off both of ’em. You sho is as pale as a ghost. I ’speck you ain’t had no breakust. You jest better spruce up a bit befo’ Mis’ Velor’ see you; she’s awake an’ askin’ fo’ you.”

Stuart’s face lighted up at this informa¬ tion.

“All right, Aunt Harriet, I will tidy up a bit; please tell Mrs. Blake that I shall be up to see her in a few moments.”

IV

Stuart tip-toed into Velora’s room a few minutes later. He saw the little lace cov¬ ered bassinette with its blue ribbons near the bed, and Velora’s mother sitting beside her.

“How is she now?” he whispered anx¬ iously.

“All right I think, but it was terrible,” and Mrs. Allen’s drawn face with its aged lines showed that she had gone through acute suffering while witnessing her daughter’s

agony.

Slowly Velora turned her head and opened her beautiful violet eyes. She was very pale and fragile looking.

Stuart leaned over and kissed her.

“How are you feeling dear?’’ he whis¬ pered, holding her hand very gently in his.

“Better,’’ she whispered, “have you seen the baby?’’

Mrs. Allen rose and left the room quietly, leaving the two young people together with their great mutual joy.

“I hope he is a fine boy, Stuart, and will bring us much happiness. He almost cost me my life,’’ whispered Velora, as Stuart gazed down at the sleeping little bundle of humanity which had been responsible for so much suffering and anxiety during the past twenty-four hours.

“Well, he doesn’t look like much of a man just now,’’ said Stuart with a rather happy smile, “but he may be president of the United States some day, you know!*’

They both looked at the wee little face, and Velora smiled too.

Chapter 5 I

Stuart Blake went back to his work with more energy and determination than ever, when he knew that his wife was out of dan¬ ger, and things were back to normal again at home.

He worked far into the night, and eight o’clock each morning found him at his desk.

Did he ever think of his boyhood sweet¬ heart during this busy rush of life? Had he ever realized for a single moment how madly and sincerely she had loved him?

He had thought of her, but only casually. He knew that she loved him, but he knew nothing of the quality of love which she bore him.

Her love was like a flawless jewel, dis¬ covered among thousands of jewels of lesser value.

When he thought of her at all, he thought that she would forget him and be happy with someone else, as so many others have done.

Youth is often selfish and superficial be¬ cause of its inexperience.