Isham Frederic Stewart - Nothing But the Truth

Frederic S. Isham

Nothing But the Truth

CHAPTER I THE TEMERITY OF BOB

It cant be done.

Of course, it can.

A man couldnt survive the ordeal.

Could do it myself.

The scene was the University Club. The talk spread over a good deal of space, as talk will when pink cocktails, or green gardens in a glass confront, or are in front of, the talkees. Dickie said it couldnt be done and Bob said it was possible and that he could do it. He might not have felt such confidence had it not been for the verdant stimulation. He could have done anything just then, so why not this particular feat or stunt? And who was this temerarious one and what was he like?

As an excellent specimen of a masculine young animal, genus homo, Bob Bennett was good to look on. Some of those young ladies who wave banners when young men strain their backs and their arms and their legs in the cause of learning, had, in the days of the not remote past, dubbed him, sub rosa, the blue-eyed Apollo. Some of the fellows not so euphemistically inclined had, however, during that same glorious period found frequent occasion to refer to him less classically, if more truthfully, as that darn fool, Bob Bennett. That was on account of a streak of wildness in him, for he was a free bold creature, was Bob. Conventional bars and gates chafed him. He may have looked like a blue-eyed Apollo, but his spirit had the wings of a wild goose, than which there are no faster birds for a wild goose is the biplane of the empyrean.

Now that Bob had ceased the chase for learning and was out in the wide world, he should have acquired an additional sobriquet that of Impecunious Bob. It would have fitted his pecuniary condition very nicely. Once he had had great expectations, but alas!  dad had just come a cropper. They had sheared him on the street. The world in general didnt know about it yet, but Bob did.

Were broke, Bob, said dad that very morning.

Thats all right, Gov., said Bob. Can you get up?

I cant even procure a pair of crutches to hobble with, answered dad.

Never mind, observed Bob magnanimously. Youve done pretty well by me up to date. Dont you worry or reproach yourself. Im not going to heap abuse on those gray hairs.

Thanks, Bob. Coolly. Im not worrying. You see, its up to you now.

Me? Bob stared.

Yes. You see I believe in the Japanese method.

Whats that? Uneasily.

Duty of a child to support his parent, when said child is grown up!

Bob whistled. Say, Gov., do you mean it?

Gospel truth, Bob.

Bob whistled again. Not joking?

Pon honor! Cheerfully.

I never did like the Japanese, from Bob, sotto voce. Blame lot of heathens thats what they are!

Ive got a dollar or two that I owe tucked away where no one can find it except me, went on dad, unmindful of Bobs little soliloquy. That will have to last until you come to the rescue.

Gee! Im glad you were thoughtful enough for that! ejaculated the young man. Sure you can keep it hidden?

Burglars couldnt find it, said dad confidently, let alone my creditors God bless them! But it wont last long, Bob. Bear that in mind. Itll be a mighty short respite.

Oh, Ill not forget it. If if its not an impertinence, may I ask what you are going to do, dad?

Im contemplating a fishing trip, first of all, and after that quien sabe? Some pleasure suitable to my retired condition will undoubtedly suggest itself. I may take up the study of philosophy. Confucius has always interested me. They say it takes forty years to read him and then forty years to digest what you have read. The occupation would, no doubt, prove adequate. But dont concern yourself about that, dear boy. Ill get on. You owe me a large debt of gratitude. Im thrusting a great responsibility on you. It should be the making of you. Bob had his secret doubts. Get out and hustle, dear boy. Its up to you, now! And he spread out his hands in care-free fashion and smiled blandly. No Buddha could have appeared more complacent only instead of a lotus flower, Bobs dad held in his hand a long black weed, the puffing of which seemed to afford a large measure of ecstatic satisfaction. Go! He waved the free hand. My blessing on your efforts.

Bob started to go, and then he lingered. Perhaps, he said, you can tell me what I am going to do?

Dont know. Cheerfully.

What can I do? Hopelessly.

Couldnt say.

I dont know anything.

Ha! ha! Dad laughed, as if son had sprung a joke. Well, that is a condition experience will remove. Experience and hard knocks, he added.

Bob swore softly. His head was humming. No heroic purpose to get out and fight his way moved him. He didnt care about shoveling earth, or chopping down trees. He had no frenzied desire to brave the sixty-below-zero temperature of the Klondike in a mad search for gold. In a word, he didnt feel at all like the heroes in the books who conquer under almost impossible conditions in the vastnesses of the open, and incidentally whallop a few herculean simple-minded sons of nature, just to prove that breed is better than brawn.

Of course, I could give you a little advice, Bob, said the governor softly. If you should find hustling a bit arduous for one of your luxurious nature, theres an alternative. It is always open to a young man upon whom nature has showered her favors.

Dont know what you mean by that last, growled Bob, who disliked personalities. But what is the alternative to hustling?

Get married, said dad coolly.

Bob changed color. Dad watched him keenly.

Theres always the matrimonial market for young men who have not learned to specialize. Ive known many such marriages to turn out happily, too. Marrying right, my boy, is a practical, not a sentimental business.

Bob looked disgusted.

Theres Miss Gwendoline Gerald, for example. Millions in her own name, and

Hold on, dad! cried Bob. His face was flaming now. The blue eyes gleamed almost fiercely.

I knew you were acquainted, observed dad softly, still studying him. Besides shes a beautiful girl and

Drop it, dad! burst from Bob. Weve never had a quarrel, but Suddenly he realized his attitude was actually menacing. And toward dad his own dad! I beg your pardon, sir, he muttered contritely. Im afraid I am forgetting myself. But please turn the talk.

All right, said dad. I forgive you. I was only trying to elucidate your position. But since its not to be the matrimonial market, itll have to be a hustle, my boy. Im too old to make another fortune. Ive done my bit and now Im going to retire on my son. Sounds fair and equitable, doesnt it, Bob?

Id hate to contradict you, sir, the other answered moodily.

Dad walked up to him and laid an arm affectionately upon sons broad shoulders. Ive the utmost confidence in you, my boy, he said, with a bland smile.

Thank you, sir, replied Bob. He always preserved an attitude of filial respect toward his one and only parent. But he tore himself away from dad now as soon as he could. He wanted to think. The average hero, thrust out into the world, has only a single load to carry. He has only to earn a living for himself. Bobs load was a double one and therefore he would have to be a double hero. Mechanically he walked on and on, cogitating upon his unenviable fate. Suddenly he stopped. He found himself in front of the club. Bob went in. And there he met Dickie, Clarence, Dan the doughty commodore and some others.