put his dad right with the world again.
All day he worked frantically, not taking time to go home for lunch, holding long telephone conversations, and writing letters. Interviewing his father’s lawyer and getting in touch with the president of the bank, making an appointment with a real estate agent in the city for the next day, writing letters to two or three powerful friends of his father’s whom he could not reach over the wires, sending telegrams.
It was wonderful, the thrill that came to him as he realized his own responsibility and the necessity of good judgment. If he only had someone to consult. Someone closer than just bank presidents. Of course, there was Keith Washburn—and Sherrill. Sherrill had amazing good sense for a girl. But of course he could not tell either of them, good friends though they were, about his father’s business. He must weather it alone. If he only could ask Dad a question or two. But his mother’s various messages, reporting the state of the beloved invalid, made it very plain that Dad ought not to be bothered with a thing for many a day yet.
Alan went home late to dinner that night and tried to wear a cheerful face to cover his weariness. Now that his actual work was done, until morning he had time to think of his own disappointment, and it cut deep into his heart and brought out the tired lines on his face more than he dreamed. Maybe he might have gone after all if he only had not been so hasty. Perhaps his plans would have carried smoothly, and by tomorrow everything would have been straightened out and the business safe. Surely then there could have been found somebody who would have taken over the store for a while till Dad got well. But no! He must not even think of that! Mother must never suspect; Dad must never know what he had given up. Dad would have felt even worse than he did about it. Dad was ambitious for him. Dad would have wanted him to be connected with this great matter!
His father was under opiates and in the hands of a capable nurse from the city. Alan could only tiptoe silently up to the door of the sickroom and peer anxiously into the cool, dim shadows. That sleeping form with the closed eyes, the strange, unnatural breathing, how it stabbed his heart. Of course, he could not have gone off to a desert and left his father like that.
Perhaps it was his need of being reassured after he had visited his father that led his footsteps out across the lawn and down the next street to the Washburn house. His mother did not need him. He had tucked her into her bed for a nice nap, kissed her, patted her, and told her not to worry. He had a strange lost feeling, like the first time he went to kindergarten all alone. So he wandered to his friend’s house.
Sherrill was at the piano, playing, the lamplight falling from the tall shaded lamp on her head and shoulders, bringing out the glint of gold in her hair, the delicate curve of her cheek and chin, the exquisite molding of her slim shoulders. He stood a moment and watched her wistfully. How sweet she was, and wise. What would she have advised him to do? Would she have said he must stay? But of course she would. He could not think of himself even asking her. He would not want her to think there had been any other thought in his mind for an instant, than to stick by his father. And yet— She was young! She was sane! Perhaps he had been over sentimental! He longed to hear her say it. Yet he could never ask her. The only person he could feel like asking was God, and he felt that he already knew what God would have him do.
She had stopped playing now and was wheeling a big chair up to the light. He drifted up to the open window and called her.
“Sherry, come out in the hammock and talk to me.”
She came at once, in her pretty white dress, standing in the doorway, poised for a second, while she called to her mother:
“Only out in the hammock, dearest. I shan’t be long. Alan is here!”
They sat down in the big, capacious swinging seat under the sweet-smelling pines and talked.
Sherrill had had letters from two of the girls. Priscilla Maybrick was in the Catskills having a wonderful time, and Willa Barrington had gone with an aunt to Atlantic City. They talked for a while about the comparative merits of seashore and mountains, and then a silence fell between them, a pleasant silence such as brings no embarrassment between good friends.
“Had a letter from old Hodge today,” said Alan nonchalantly, as if it were a matter of small moment. Somehow he had to let it out to someone, and Sherrill Washburn was safe and sane.
“You did!” said Sherrill interestedly. “What did he have to say? Is he still in that suburb of New York? Keith heard he had resigned.”
“Why no, he isn’t there,” Alan said. “He did resign. Hadn’t you heard? He’s a high mucky-muck in an expedition to Egypt. Archaeological, you know. Digging up some of Tut’s relatives and things like that.”
“You don’t mean it! Really! Isn’t that just wonderful? Did he say when they start?”
“Friday,” said Alan grimly. And then in a tone as if he were reporting an invitation to a pink tea, he said, quite offhandedly, “He asked me to go along.”
“Oh, Alan!” said Sherrill, clapping her hands in ecstasy and looking at him with admiration.
“Yes,” said the boy, “gave me all the dope and everything to meet him in New York, day after tomorrow.”
“Day after tomorrow!” The girl gave him a quick look, and sympathy broke into her voice.
“Oh, Alan! Then you can’t go! Of course. But isn’t that hard! You wouldn’t want to leave your father just now. Does he know about it?”
“No, and I don’t intend he shall!” said Alan, and there was a ring of purpose in his voice. “Please don’t say anything to Mother either, Sherry. It would just worry her, and she’s got enough to be anxious over now.”
“But wouldn’t they both perhaps feel you ought to have told them? It’s such an important thing. Perhaps they could make other arrangements and let you go.”
“There isn’t a chance!” said Alan briskly, thinking of the hard work he had been doing all day. “Nobody else knows about Dad’s business the way I do, and I wouldn’t trust anybody to take things over. Besides, Dad may be worse hurt than we think. The doctor can’t tell everything just yet. Of course, I know it’s a chance of a lifetime, as old Hodge said, but it can’t be helped. The way just isn’t open, that’s all. I only mentioned it because I thought you’d like to know that Hodge had asked me. I guess it’s an honor. He must know a lot of other fellows better fitted than I am.”
“Of course it’s an honor,” said Sherrill eagerly, “a great honor! But I’m not a bit surprised. I don’t believe Professor Hodge knows another boy of your age that is as dependable as you. But as for being the chance of a lifetime, you can’t tell. Maybe staying at home is the chance of yours. Things we want are not always the ones that are best for us. This may not be the chance of your lifetime at all.”
“Evidently not!” said Alan with a little laugh that hid a twinge of bitterness. “Well it was mighty nice of him to ask me anyway, and I’ve that to remember, like saving up candy you can’t eat along with your diploma and other trifling honors!”
“Have you answered him yet?” asked Sherrill thoughtfully.
“Sure! Wired him within an hour after the letter came.”
They were silent a moment, swinging back and forth under the old pine trees, Sherrill’s white dress making a patch of white in the shadows.
Footsteps were coming down the sidewalk, ringing footsteps that walked
