An Unofficial Patriot Read online

  CHAPTER X.

  _"To thine own self be true."_ Shakespeare.

  There had been a bright side for Griffith in all this change, too. Newand warm friends had been made. He had watched with a feeling of joythe enervating influence of slave ownership drop from Beverly's youngshoulders--and upon the other boys he felt that it had never cast itsblight with a power that would outlast early youth. It filled him withpleasure to find his sons surrounded in the academy and college with themental atmosphere and influence of freedom, only. He encouraged themto join the debating societies and Greek letter orders which admitteddiscussion of such topics. Beverly was now in his Sophomore year and wasan ardent student of free-soil doctrines. He read and absorbed like afresh young sponge the political literature of the time. He was alwaysready and eager to enter the debates of his class upon the ever pregnantand always recurring slavery extension and compromise bills. The youngfellows had numerous hot arguments over the position of the differentstatesmen of the time, and Stephen A. Douglas furnished Beverly withmany a hard hour's thinking. Mr. Davenport adhered to Douglas; butBeverly inclined to persistently oppose his point of view. When, atlast, Douglas had taken the side of repeal in that famous measure--theMissouri Compromise Bill, which had been at once the hope and thedespair of all the great northwest,--Beverly no longer hesitated. He andhis father took different sides, finally and forever, in their politicalopinions. At commencement time, year after year, the governor of theState was made the feature of the college exercises, and he had severaltimes been the guest of Mr. Davenport. This had served to draw to thehouse many politicians whose talks had given both stimulus and materialto Beverly's already ardent political nature, which was so fast leadinghim outside the bounds reached by his father. The scope and class ofhis reading often troubled his mother sorely. One day she had gone toGriffith in dismay. It was so seldom that she felt obliged to criticisethis eldest son of hers, upon whom she looked with a pride almost beyondwords to express, that Griffith was astonished.

  "I wish, Griffith, that you would tell Beverly not to read this book.It is the second time I have told him and he is determined. I burned thefirst copy and he has bought another. He says he will buy fifty if Iburn them before he has read it all. He is that determined to read it. Ihated to tell you, but------"

  Griffith held out his hand for the obnoxious book. Then he exclaimed insurprise: "The 'Age of Reason'! Paine's book! Where did he happen to getthat?" He looked over the title page.

  "I see, I see! 'Rights of Man'--he quoted from that in his last essayat college. It was good, too--excellent. I've never read either one,but--oh, tut, tut, mother, why not let him read it? I wouldn't wony overit. Beverly is all right. He has got a better mind than you have--a farbetter one than I have--why not let him use it? Let him read anythinghe wants to. We can't judge for him. He'll be all right anyhow. You knowthat. He and I differ in politics now. He is going the radical road andI'm staying by the old line whigs; but--oh, tut, tut, Katherine! let'snot hamper the boy's mind with our notions to the extent of forcing themon him. It won't do a bit of good if we try it either. That's not thekind of a mind Beverly has got--and suppose it was, what right have weto warp and limit its action?" He was turning over the leaves. "I'venever read this myself." Then looking up suddenly: "Have you?"

  "No, of course not! But my father forbade our boys reading it. He saidit was a fearful book--infidel--" She broke off, but stammered somethingabout Beverly's salvation. Griffith drew her down on his knee.

  "Madam Kath'rine," he said, quizzically, "if I had followed my father'sconscience instead of my own, I never would have"--he was going to sayseen her, but he recognized in time that that might hurt her--"I neverwould have done a good many things that have seemed right to me--_the_only right things for my soul. So long as Beverly is open and frank andtrue to himself--and he has always been that--I mean to let him alone.I am sure that I found a good deal better way for myself than my fatherhad marked out for me. Perhaps Beverly will. Suppose we trust him.He has been such a good son--such a frank fellow; don't let us make apretender of him. Let him read what he does openly. You may be very sureif it looks wrong to him he won't _want_ to be open with it. I don'twant to hurt Beverly as my father, dear soul, hurt me--intending it formy own good, of course; but--but--can't you trust Beverly, Katherine? Ican. And maybe, after all, people have not understood this book. Leaveit here. I believe I'll read it myself." Katherine was astonished,but the little talk rested and helped her. That night the book was onBeverly's table again and nothing was said of it. Beverly had joinedhis father's church when he was a little fellow, but since he enteredcollege he had seemed to take slight interest in it. He was alwayspresent at family prayers, but said nothing about his religious views oflate. A year ago he had been reprimanded, in company with others, by thelocal preacher for attending a social dance. That night he said to Roy:"The first time a dancing teacher comes to this town I am going to takelessons. Look at those Louisville boys in my class and in yours, too.They are twice as easy in their manners as any of the rest of us. It istheir dancing that did it. They told me so."

  "Mr. Brooks will turn you out of the church if you do," said Roy.

  "Father wouldn't," replied Beverly, whistling--"and father is goodenough for me."

  But, since there had been no opportunity to fulfill the threat, thelittle matter of the social dance had blown over, and Beverly was still,nominally, a member of the Methodist Church.

  The days passed. The political crash was upon the country. Men met onlyto talk of free-soil and slave extension, of union and disunion, ofrepeal, and even, in some quarters, of abolition. Young men's bloodboiled. In Legislature and Congress feeling ran to blows. The air wasthick and heavy with threats of--no one knew what. Old friendships werebroken and new ones strained into real enmity. Brothers took differentsides. Fathers and sons became bitter. Neighbor looked with suspicionupon neighbor. College fraternities lapsed into political clubs. It wasnow Beverly's last year. His favorite professor died. Griffith noticedthat the boy was restless and abstracted. One day he came to his father.

  "Father," he said, abruptly, "I don't feel as if I ought to waste anymore time at college. There is a tremendous upheaval just ahead of us.Could you--would you just as soon I should?--I've got an offer with twoof the other fellows, and I--"

  Mr. Davenport recognized in the boy's unusual hesitancy of speech anunaccustomed quality of unrest and uncertainty. He looked over hisgold-bowed glasses.

  "Why, what is it, son? Out with it," he said, smiling.

  "Well, it's like this: You remember Shapleigh, of the class last year?Well, you know his father owns that little free-soil paper out inMissouri that I get every once in a while. It's democratic, you know,but free-soil."

  Griffith nodded. "Very good little paper, too. Don't fully agree withthose last editorials--too fiery--but a very decent little sheet."Beverly was evidently pleased.

  "Well, the old gentleman is tired of the fight, and Shap wrote me thatif Donaldson and I will each put in $1,500, his father will turn thepaper over to the three of us. Shap knows how to run the business end ofthe concern. That's what he has done since he was graduated. Shap wantsme for political editor, mostly. He's a red-hot free-soiler, and heknows I am. I sent him my last two speeches and he used 'em in thepaper. He says they took like wildfire; his constituents liked 'emfirst-class. You know, I've always thought I'd like to be a newspaperman. Think so more than ever now. Times are so hot, and there is such alot to be said. They need new blood to the front, and--"

  Griffith was laughing gently and looking quizzically, with lips pursedup, at this ambitious son of his; but the boy went on:

  "The fact is, father, I've worried over it all this term. I hated toask you if you could let me have the money. It is such a splendidchance--one of a lifetime, I think. I do wish you'd let me."

  At last he had fallen into his boyish form of speech, and Griffithlaughed aloud.

  "_Let_ you? _Let_ you be an editor of a fiery free-soil pa
per out inMissouri, hey? The fellow that edits a paper out there just now can'tbe made out of very meek stuff, Bev. It won't be a nest of roses for anythree young birds that try it, I reckon. D'yeh see that account in the_Gazette_, yesterday, of the mob out there near Kansas City?"

  "Yes, I did; and that's the very thing that decided me to ask youto-day. Of course, you'd really own the stock. It would only be in myname till I could pay you for it, and--"

  "Beverly," said his father, gravely, "if you've made up your mind fullyto this thing, and are sure you know what you want and can do, I reckonyou don't need to worry over the money for the stock. But are you_sure_ you want to leave college before you finish? Isn't it a littlepremature?"

  He did not hear his son's reply. It came suddenly to his mind that thisboy of his was almost exactly the age that he had been when he had triedto argue his own case with the old Major. It rushed into his thoughtshow hard it had been to approach the topic nearest his heart, and howcruelly it had all ended. He realized, as he often did these days,how boyish and immature he must have seemed to his father, and yet howtragically old he had felt to himself. He wondered if Beverly felt thatway now. He began to realize that the boy was still talking, arguing andplanning, although he had not heard.

  "Bev," he said, gently, using the abbreviation instinctively to makethe boy feel the tenderness of his intent--"Bev, I don't intend to arguethis thing with you at all."

  Beverly had misunderstood his father's long silence and abstraction. Theremark confirmed his misconception. He arose, disappointed, and startedfor the door. Griffith reached out, caught him by the sleeve, and pulledhim into a chair beside his own.

  "I want to tell you something, Bev. When I was about your age--maybe alittle younger--

  "I made a request of my father that it had cost me a sore trial to makeup my mind to ask. He--well, he didn't take it kindly, and--and--and Ileft home in a huff; not exactly a huff, either; but, to tell the truth,we succeeded in hurting each other sorely. And there wasn't the leastneed of it. It took us both a long time to get over the hurt of it.I sometimes doubt if we ever did get really all over it. I tell you,Beverly, boy, it was a sad, sad blunder all around. It darkened anddampened my spirits for many a day, and I don't doubt it did his."

  Griffith was playing idly with a paper-knife on the table beside him,and there came a pause and a far-off look in his eyes.

  "Oh, father, don't fancy I feel that way--I--don't--I wouldn'tthink----" began Beverly, eagerly, with a suspicious quaver in hisvoice. To hide it, he arose suddenly.

  "Sit down, son," said Griffith, smiling at the boy and taking the handthat rested on the table. It was cold. He dropped the paper-knife andlaid his other hand over his son's. "Beverly, you didn't understand me,I reckon"--he threw one arm about the boy's shoulders--"I reckon youdidn't understand me. I meant to say this: I still think my father waswrong. Now, if I can help it, I don't want the time to ever come, thatwhen you recall your first independent effort with me, you will thinkthat of me. I've always intended to try to remember, when that timecame, to put myself in your place, and recall my own early struggles--benineteen again myself. We will all hate to have you go so far away. Thatwill be the hardest part for mother and for all of us; but if you have,thought it all over seriously----"

  "I have, indeed, father--for months and months. It----"

  "Why, all there is to do is for me to look into the matter and getthat stock for you, and see how we can make the change as easy aspossible--as----"

  The boy was on his feet. He was struggling to hide his emotion.Griffith, still holding his hand, arose. He drew the boy toward him.Suddenly Beverly understood his father's wish. He threw both arms abouthis neck and kissed him as he had not done since he was a little fellow.Mr. Davenport held the boy close to his breast. Beverly was the tallerof the two, but the father's form had filled out into portly proportionsduring these past years and Beverly's was very slight.

  "There, there, there!" exclaimed Griffith, presently, blowing a blastupon his handkerchief. "What are we two precious fools crying over?Wasting time! Wasting time! Better go tell your mother all about it andlet her get about fixing you up to go. Editor Davenport!" he exclaimed,holding the boy at arm's length. "Well, well, well! what next? Tut,tut, tut, tut! I expect Roy will be wanting to set up a law-office--or aboxing school--in a day or two." Roy's exploit with his fists in behalfof Aunt Judy had always been a family joke. "But, look here, Beverly, Iwant you to promise me you will be mighty careful to keep out of troubleout there. It's a hot State just now. The times are scorching, and--Godonly knows what's in store for the country. Keep out of trouble andhasty words, son. Bless me, but I'm glad it's not Roy! He'd be introuble before he got his first stick set up. They call it a stick.don't they? I'll have to coach up on journalistic language if I'm tohave an editor for a son. The proof of the editorials will be in thereading thereof," he added, smiling at the play upon the old saying."But I stipulate right now that you send me every one you write markedin red, so I won't have to wade through all the other stuff to findyours. If they're as good as that last essay of yours at the Delta, I'llbe proud of you, my boy. Only--only don't be too radical! Young bloodboils too easy. Mine did. Go slow on this question, Bev. It's biggerthan you think it is. In one form or another it has burdened my wholelife, and I've never been able to solve it yet--for others, for others.I solved it for myself--as Judy's presence here proves," he added,laughing. Judy's presence and her triumph over the law was a familyjest, and Roy's fight on her behalf not wholly a memory of regret.

  "He fit fur the ould naiger," remarked the envious Rosanna, from timeto time, "but it would be the rear of me loif, shure, before he'd do thesame, er even so much as jaw back, fer the loikes o' me!"