YOUR SON.
He drew a line where his real name should be and underneath wrote “you know” and mailed the letter.
Following that, because his mother had been anxious about him all this time and wondering where he was, he soon received a letter, postmarked Denver, which surprised him very much, for he had expected to hear from her as still in Kansas City.
DEAR SON:
I was surprised and so glad to get my boy’s letter and to know that you were alive and safe. I had hoped and prayed that you would return to the straight and narrow path — the only path that will ever lead you to success and happiness of any kind, and that God would let me hear from you as safe and well and working somewhere and doing well. And now he has rewarded my prayers. I knew he would. Blessed be His holy name.
Not that I blame you altogether for all that terrible trouble you got into and bringing so much suffering and disgrace on yourself and us — for well I know how the devil tempts and pursues all of us mortals and particularly just such a child as you. Oh, my son, if you only knew how you must be on your guard to avoid these pitfalls. And you have such a long road ahead of you. Will you be ever watchful and try always to cling to the teachings of our Saviour that your mother has always tried to impress upon the minds and hearts of all you dear children? Will you stop and listen to the voice of our Lord that is ever with us, guiding our footsteps safely up the rocky path that leads to a heaven more beautiful than we can ever imagine here? Promise me, my child, that you will hold fast to all your early teachings and always bear in mind that “right is might,” and my boy, never, never, take a drink of any kind no matter who offers it to you. There is where the devil reigns in all his glory and is ever ready to triumph over the weak one. Remember always what I have told you so often “Strong drink is raging and wine is a mocker,” and it is my earnest prayer that these words will ring in your ears every time you are tempted — for I am sure now that that was perhaps the real cause of that terrible accident.
I suffered terribly over that, Clyde, and just at the time when I had such a dreadful ordeal to face with Esta. I almost lost her. She had such an awful time. The poor child paid dearly for her sin. We had to go in debt so deep and it took so long to work it out — but finally we did and now things are not as bad as they were, quite.
As you see, we are now in Denver. We have a mission of our own here now with housing quarters for all of us. Besides we have a few rooms to rent which Esta, and you know she is now Mrs. Nixon, of course, takes care of. She has a fine little boy who reminds your father and me of you so much when you were a baby. He does little things that are you all over again so many times that we almost feel that you are with us again — as you were. It is comforting, too, sometimes.
Frank and Julie have grown so and are quite a help to me. Frank has a paper route and earns a little money which helps. Esta wants to keep them in school just as long as we can.
Your father is not very well, but of course, he is getting older, and he does the best he can.
I am awful glad, Clyde, that you are trying so hard to better yourself in every way and last night your father was saying again that your uncle, Samuel Griffiths, of Lycurgus, is so rich and successful and I thought that maybe if you wrote him and asked him to give you something there so that you could learn the business, perhaps he would. I don’t see why he wouldn’t. After all you are his nephew. You know he has a great collar business there in Lycurgus and he is very rich, so they say. Why don’t you write him and see? Somehow I feel that perhaps he would find a place for you and then you would have something sure to work for. Let me know if you do and what he says.
I want to hear from you often, Clyde. Please write and let us know all about you and how you are getting along. Won’t you? Of course we love you as much as ever, and will do our best always to try to guide you right. We want you to succeed more than you know, but we also want you to be a good boy, and live a clean, righteous life, for, my son, what matter it if a man gaineth the whole world and loseth his own soul?
Write your mother, Clyde, and bear in mind that her love is always with you — guiding you — pleading with you to do right in the name of the Lord.
Affectionately,
MOTHER.
And so it was that Clyde had begun to think of his uncle Samuel and his great business long before he encountered him. He had also experienced an enormous relief in learning that his parents were no longer in the same financial difficulties they were when he left, and safely housed in a hotel, or at least a lodging house, probably connected with this new mission.
Then two months after he had received his mother’s first letter and while he was deciding almost every day that he must do something, and that forthwith, he chanced one day to deliver to the Union League Club on Jackson Boulevard a package of ties and handkerchiefs which some visitor to Chicago had purchased at the store, for which he worked. Upon entering, who should he come in contact with but Ratterer in the uniform of a club employee. He was in charge of inquiry and packages at the door. Although neither he nor Ratterer quite grasped immediately the fact that they were confronting one another again, after a moment Ratterer had exclaimed: “Clyde!” And then seizing him by an arm, he added enthusiastically and yet cautiously in a very low tone: “Well, of all things! The devil! Whaddya know? Put ‘er there. Where do you come from anyhow?” And Clyde, equally excited, exclaimed, “Well, by jing, if it ain’t Tom. Whaddya know? You working here?”
Ratterer, who (like Clyde) had for the moment quite forgotten the troublesome secret which lay between them, added: “That’s right. Surest thing you know. Been here for nearly a year, now.” Then with a sudden pull at Clyde’s arm, as much as to say, “Silence!” he drew Clyde to one side, out of the hearing of the youth to whom he had been talking as Clyde came in, and added: “Ssh! I’m working here under my own name, but I’d rather not let ’em know I’m from K. C., see. I’m supposed to be from Cleveland.”
And with that he once more pressed Clyde’s arm genially and looked him over. And Clyde, equally moved, added: “Sure. That’s all right. I’m glad you were able to connect. My name’s Tenet, Harry Tenet. Don’t forget that.” And both were radiantly happy because of old times’ sake.
But Ratterer, noticing Clyde’s delivery uniform, observed: “Driving a delivery, eh? Gee, that’s funny. You driving a delivery. Imagine. That kills me. What do you want to do that for?” Then seeing from Clyde’s expression that his reference to his present position might not be the most pleasing thing in the world, since Clyde at once observed: “Well, I’ve been up against it, sorta,” he added: “But say, I want to see you. Where are you living?” (Clyde told him.) “That’s all right. I get off here at six. Why not drop around after you’re through work. Or, I’ll tell you — suppose we meet at — well, how about Henrici’s on Randolph Street? Is that all right? At seven, say. I get off at six and I can be over there by then if you can.”
Clyde, who was happy to the point of ecstasy in meeting Ratterer again, nodded a cheerful assent.
He boarded his wagon and continued his deliveries, yet for the rest of the afternoon his mind was on this approaching meeting with Ratterer. And at five-thirty he hurried to his barn and then to his boarding house on the west side, where he donned his street clothes, then hastened to Henrici’s. He had not been standing on the corner a minute before Ratterer appeared, very genial and friendly and dressed, if anything, more neatly than ever.
“Gee, it’s good to have a look at you, old socks!” he began. “Do you know you’re the only one of that bunch that I’ve seen since I left K. C.? That’s right. My sister wrote me after
