The Triumph of Virginia Dale Part 40

"I asked him if the waste from your mill made the water bad."

"Well of all the preposterous interferences--"

"Joe said that it wasn't fit for a dog to drink."

"What does that b.o.o.by know about it?"

"As he works for the Board of Health, even though he is only a laborer, he knows what they think about it, and--" she looked squarely at her father--"I believe him, Daddy."

"Believe that idiot?" shouted Obadiah, his face black as night. "He didn't have sense enough to gouge me when your fool admissions gave him the whip hand. He's a fine specimen of a man for you to be running after," declared the mill owner with scorn. "It's a nice thing for a respectable girl to be doing. You'll get yourself talked about if I don't watch you."

A change came over Virginia. She stiffened and her fear seemed to leave her. There was a glint of anger in her eyes as they showed large against her pale face. Her soft round chin set in an almost comical reflection of his obstinate jaw. She arose, and her level gaze met his angry glower, unafraid. "Stop, father." She spoke with wonderful self-restraint.

"You have said quite enough about Mr. Curtis. We are talking about something else. The waste from your mill is making people sick. What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing," cried Obadiah, in his wrathful falsetto, his face working convulsively. "I've been running waste into the river for years. If people don't like it, let them make the most of it--go thirsty for all I care. I'll give them a real fight."

"Do you mean that, knowing your mill is poisoning the water which people are forced to drink, you'll fight the matter in court as they were afraid you'd do?"

"I'll drag them through the courts until they get so warm that any water will look good to them." Suddenly his temper blazed anew. "What did I tell you this morning?" he demanded. "I warned you that I would no longer tolerate your silly interference in other people's business. I certainly will not permit you to b.u.t.t into my affairs. You go too far--you and the friends whom you pick up in the street. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand. You spoke too plainly this morning for me to misunderstand your meaning--as you are doing now. Daddy, I know that I have made many mistakes. Yet, everything which you criticize was done to aid some one else and in a small way they did spread happiness."

"If you had minded your own business you'd be happier now."

"I was trying to help other people."

"G.o.d helps him who helps himself," quoted Obadiah, virtuously.

"That doesn't mean to think only of yourself."

Her quiet voiced argument infuriated him. "You'll attend to your own business in the future," he bellowed.

She did not flinch before his bl.u.s.ter but held her ground in white faced determination. "You want me to lead a life of selfishness when there are so many opportunities to help others?"

"Call it what you like, only get into your head the idea that hereafter you will attend to your own affairs and let the rest of the world do the same."

Abruptly her mood changed. She gazed at him with a great longing. "Oh, Daddy dear, surely you are not so selfish as all that. I know that deep in your heart you are not."

For an instant it seemed as if his mood were softening to hers; but his obstinacy rea.s.serted itself and he hardened himself against her appeal.

"I have always managed to take care of myself and I expect the other fellow to do the same," he rapped. "In the future, you and I will follow that course and avoid this sort of trouble."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'I MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN YOUR WAY AND THE WAY OF MY MOTHER'"]

For a moment the pleading look of the girl faded into one of utter helplessness. She fought to regain control of herself as if, having reached a decision, she needed to arouse the physical force to carry it out. Turning slowly, she moved over to the center table. From its drawer she took the book which had belonged to her mother.

He watched her, silenced, as he perceived the emotional conflict which was shaking the girl strangely.

When she confronted him again, her face was tragic in its sorrow. In those few seconds she had aged. She had leaped from a girl into womanhood. Her poise was maintained by sheer power of will. When she spoke it was in a forced voice, as if the muscles of her throat strained to hold back the sobs which her tones confessed to be near.

"Daddy, there are two persons whom I should obey," she said. "You, my father, and--" her eyes filled with tears as she raised the book and clasped it to her breast and whispered ever so tenderly--"my mother."

Wonder held Obadiah speechless in its grasp.

"A moment ago," she went on, "you condemned me to a life of selfishness." She held the worn little volume towards him, and then clutched it to her heart. "In this book is a message from my mother. It is as plain and clear to me as if I had heard it from her own lips. She tells me to be unselfish and to think of others. I must choose between your way and the way of my mother. I do it now in your presence." The girl's voice softened into an ineffable sweetness.

"Perhaps mother is here, too, and understands about it. I choose her way, Daddy."

Her manner was firmer now, except for the telltale twitchings of the muscles of her face, as she continued. "Knowing my mother's wishes, I could not live as you would have me. I must go away." Her voice caught. "I must go where I can try to be unselfish. You can't object to my going to Aunt Kate's--she has asked me to visit her so often."

She swayed. Her hand clutched at the table for support. For an instant her face worked convulsively, and then, with a little cry of utter misery, she ran from the room, holding the book to her breast.

Late that evening Serena softly knocked at Virginia's door. When she was bidden to enter, the crumpled and disheveled form upon the bed and the tear streaked face told the story of grief to the big hearted negress.

"Ain' you gwine eat er li'l suppah, honey chil'?" she urged.

"No, Serena, I'm not hungry." A great sob shook the girl.

"Bettah lemme han' yo'all er cup o' tea an' suthin' to pick on,"

the old darkey pleaded. "Ah fetch it in er minute."

"No, Serena, I can't eat. I don't believe that I will ever want to eat again." A paroxysm of sobs wrenched the little frame of the girl and she dabbed frantically with a moist handkerchief at the great tears which welled up in the blue eyes.

The springs of the bed groaned and strained as Serena seated herself upon its edge. A gentle mothering look was in her face, and she began to rub the white arm gently with her big black hand. "Res' youse'f, ma li'l honey baby," she murmured. "Serena ain' gwine let n.o.body hu't her baby gal." Suddenly she bristled. "Dis yere hu'tin' ma honey chil'

bettah stop. Ah bus' somebody plum wide open," she growled ferociously.

"Ah fights fo' ma baby agin de whole wo'ld."

The girl's sobs lessened enough for her to speak. "I am going away, Serena."

"Whar you gwine go, chil'?" exclaimed the old woman with much excitement.

"I am going to Aunt Kate's home in Maine."

"W'en is we gwine start?"

"I go day after tomorrow," explained Virginia sorrowfully. "You stay here, Serena."

"Howc.u.m? Who plan dat foolishness? Wot gwine keep me heah w'en ma honey chil' done leave? Ah bets ah follers ma baby ef ah has to clim'

ba'foot th'ough fiah an' brimstone. Yas'r."

"You must stay and take care of my father, Serena."

"Wot ah wor'y 'bout him fo'? He done mek ma baby cry disaway. Ah follers yo'all."

"But, Serena, he is my father."

"Ain' ah know dat? But ain' you ma baby?" Serena arose in great excitement and pointed a quivering finger towards the hallway. "You' Ma done give you to me," she cried. But her voice softened tenderly as she resumed, "De day you' Ma pa.s.s ovah de rivah, ah wuz er settin' by de baid er tryin' to ease 'er wid er fan. She know dat de good Lord gwine call 'er home presen'ly, an' she wuz er waitin' fo' de soun' o' de angel's voice. Her eyes wuz closed jes as dough she wuz er sleepin'. Jes afo dusk she open 'em an' look up with er smile, jes like yourn, honey chil'. She say, 'Is you still thar, Serena?' Ah say, 'Yas'm, Miss Elinor.' She say, 'Ain' you bettah res' youse'f on dat pallet ovah thar.' Ah say, 'Ah ain' ti'ed none, Miss Elinor.' Den you' ma she look at me kinder pleadin' like, an' say, 'Serena, you is gwine tek good caah o' ma li'l baby, ain' yer?' Ah answer, 'Is ah gwine 'sert ma own baby?' Den she 'pear mo'e at 'er ease. De smile come back ag'in. She whisper kinder sof like, 'Yes, Serena, you' own baby,' Den Miss Elinor close 'er eyes an' in er li'l w'ile she heah de sweet voice er callin' 'er home." Great tears rolled down the black cheeks of the old negress.

Burying her face in her ap.r.o.n, she began to sob, and a m.u.f.fled voice pleaded pathetically, "Ah caint let ma own baby go away f'om me."

Before the sorrow of her faithful servitor, Virginia's own grief was temporarily subdued. She sat up on the bed and met the unexpected interference with her plans with firmness. "Serena, I must go. I know that my mother would want me to go."

"How you know?" demanded the practical Serena.

"I am sure of it. Something deep in my spirit moves me."