The Colossus | Page 4

he is young; why don't you advise him to kill
himself?"
The old fellow flounced off the sofa and stood bulging his eyes at
DeGolyer.
"Don't you ever say such a thing as that again!" he snorted. "Why,
confound your hide! would you have that boy dead?"
DeGolyer threw down his pen. "No, I would have him live forever in
his thoughtless and beautiful paradise; I would not pull him down to the
thoughtful man's hell of self-communion."
"Look here, young man, you must have a history."
"No, simply an ill-written essay."
"Who was your father?"
"A fool."
"Ah, I grant you. And who was your mother?"
"An angel."
"No, sir, she--I beg your pardon," the old man quickly added. "You are
sensitive, sir."

DeGolyer, sadly smiling, replied: "He who suffered in childhood, and
who in after life has walked hand in hand with disappointment, and is
then not sensitive, is a brute."
"How well do I know the truth of that! DeGolyer, I have been
acquainted with you but a short time, but you appeal to me strongly, sir.
And I could almost tell you something, but it is something that I ought
to keep to myself. I could make you despise me and then offer me your
regard as a compromise. Oh, that American republic of ours, fought for
by men who scorned the romance of kingly courts, is not so
commonplace a country after all. Many strange things happen there,
and some of them are desperately foul. Is that Henry coming? Hush."
The young man bounded into the room. "Say," he cried, "I've bargained
for six of the biggest monkeys you ever saw. That old fellow "--
"Henry," the uncle interrupted, taking up a hat and fanning his purplish
face, "you are getting too old for that sort of foolishness. You are a man,
you must remember, and it may not be long until you'll be called upon
to exercise the judgment of a man."
"Oh, I was going to buy the monkeys and sell them again for three
times as much as I gave for them, but you bet that when I'm called on
to exercise the judgment, of a man I'll be there. And do you think that
I'd fool with mines or anything else in this country? I wouldn't. I'd go to
some American city and make money. Say, DeGolyer, when are you
going to start off on that jaunt?"
"What jaunt?" the old man asked.
"I am going to make a tour of the country," DeGolyer answered. "I'm
going to visit nearly every community of interest and gather material
for my letters, and shall be gone a month or so, I should think."
"And I'm going with him," said Henry.
"No," the old man replied, "you are not going to leave me here all that
time alone. I'm old, and I want you near me."
"All right, uncle; whatever you say goes."
When DeGolyer mounted a mule and set out on his journey, young
Sawyer, as if clinging to his friendship, walked beside him for some
distance into the country.
"Well, I'd better turn back here," said the young man, halting. "Say,
Hank, don't stay away any longer than you can help. It's devilish
lonesome here, you know."

"I won't, my boy."
"All right. And say, if you can't do the thing up as well as you want to,
throw up the job and come back here, for I'll turn loose, the first thing
you know, and make enough money for both of us."
"God bless you, I hope that you may always make enough for
yourself."
"And you bet I will, and for you, too. I hate like the mischief to see you
go away. Couldn't think any more of you if we were twin brothers. And
you think a good deal of me, too, don't you, Hank?"
"My boy," said DeGolyer, leaning over and placing his hand on the
young fellow's shoulder, "I have never speculated with my friendship,
and I don't know how valuable it is, but all of it that is worth having is
yours. You make friends everywhere; I don't. You have nothing to
conceal, and I have nothing to make known. To tell you the truth, you
are the only real friend I ever had."
"Look out, now. That sort of talk knocks me; but say, don't be away
any longer than you can help."
"I won't!" He rode a short distance, turned in his saddle, waved his
hand and cried: "God bless you, my boy."

CHAPTER III
.
ALL WAS DARKNESS.
Delays and difficulties of traveling, together with his own
determination to do the work thoroughly, prolonged DeGolyer's
absence. Nearly three months had passed. Evening was come, and from
a distant hill-top the returning traveler saw the