PRESENTLY he asked a question: "Wasn't there something pretty shady about him, Aunt Elsie? I never knew just how it was, only—well, mother told us kids not to ask father any questions about his oldest brother because it made him feel badly to even think of him, and I know we got to feeling that he wasn't the sort of uncle to be proud of, to say the least."
Then he had a new view of his aunt; her gray eyes flashed as he had not dreamed that they could, and her voice rang: "Do you mean me to understand that that old story is hanging around yet! Doesn't Joseph—doesn't your father know that there wasn't a word of truth in it?"
"I don't know much about it, Aunt Elsie, that's a fact. Mother told us children once, a good while ago when I was just a kid, about the stolen money, and how they came to know that father's brother took it; and—" Aunt Elsie interrupted him:
"They didn't know any such thing; it was false, Derrick, utterly1 false; your Uncle Derrick did not take a penny of that money any more than you did, and they drove him wild trying to make him confess a thing that he had never done."
"Well, anyhow, they thought he did; and he ran away and stayed away, didn't he? And isn't that just exactly the way a thief would act? What made him do that, if he was all right?"
His aunt spoke2 more quietly, she was evidently holding herself in check, but her voice was as firm as before:
"It seems almost beyond belief that you haven't been told all about it. I can not think that your father doesn't understand; it doesn't seem possible that Evarts and Caroline could have been so cruel as not to—but there! I mustn't judge them; they must have thought they were doing right."
Derrick's interest was on the increase; his own opinion of Uncle Evarts and Aunt Caroline was such that he could fancy them doing anything they pleased which would further their own interests. He closed his Latin reader with a slam and, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, in the attitude of attention, said eagerly:
"Begin at the beginning, Aunt Elsie, and tell me all about it. Honestly, I never heard much about father's home folks and the time when he was a boy."
"The beginning of this," said his aunt, "dates back to the time your Uncle Derrick chose for a friend a boy who wasn't worthy3 of his friendship. I suppose you never heard of Horace Beach? I knew him well, and never liked him, although he was smooth-spoken enough, and tried to pet me; it seemed as though I always knew he was a kind of sneak4. He was several years older than Derrick, and had great influence over him; mother used to say that Horace Beach could make him do anything he chose. The last time the fellow was at our house was a Christmas vacation; Derrick coaxed5 to be allowed to bring him home with him, because his mother was in Europe and he was lonesome; and he had word to go out and join her, before the vacation was over. If she had only sent a few days sooner poor Derrick's life would have been very different."
"What happened?" questioned the listener. He saw that his aunt was in danger of losing herself among mournful memories.
"Why, father's old college friend, Colonel Banks, was visiting us, and one evening he showed us children a very curious leather belt that he said he always wore when travelling; he was a great traveller. I think he had been twice around the world, and that was a great feat6 in those days. The belt was to carry his money; gold, he always had, for his journey. He said he would be for weeks together where there was no bank or exchange office, or any way to get money. It is all arranged differently now, but he grew to liking7 that way so much that he said he carried his money about with him even when he was where banks were handy. He had it filled with gold that night; he showed it to us. The bag had an opening at one end that shut with a spring lock, and one who did not understand couldn't have opened it. Then he showed us how it clasped about his waist, with another spring, that he said sometimes he couldn't unlock, himself, without a good deal of fussing. I guess I remember every word he said about it, and every other thing that happened that night and the next day; it seemed sort of burned into me; and I wasn't quite nine years old, either. While he was showing us this, and talking about it, a neighbor came to call; and very soon after that the boys, Derrick and Evarts and Horace, asked to be excused, and went up stairs. As Derrick was passing out, Colonel Banks motioned to him and gave him the money belt to carry to his room. He told him to open the valise that he would find there and lay it inside—and that was the last that was ever seen of that money belt."
Derrick, the listener, whistled sharply to express his dismay.
"Yes," said his aunt, as though he had spoken, "it is dreadful, but it is true. There is no use in my trying to tell about the days that followed; I couldn't, even if I wanted to. Poor Derrick acted so very strangely; at least it seemed so to us at the time. He admitted that he took the belt from Colonel Banks' hand, but he said that he did not take it up stairs and did not know what had become of it."
"Rot!" said young Derrick. "How could he expect anybody to believe such a story?"
"I believed it," Aunt Elsie said, firmly. "I was only a little bit of a girl, but I never believed for a single minute that your Uncle Derrick stole that belt; not a bit more than I believe it now."
"And didn't he, Aunt Elsie, honor bright?"
The boy had a flash from the gray eyes then. "Didn't I tell you that there wasn't a word of truth in that wretched story? That dreadful boy, who was three older than Derrick and ought never to have been his companion, was the thief; and Derrick, because of a false sense of honor, wouldn't even explain the circumstances that would have helped to find out the truth. Don't you know that there are boys trustworthy in all other ways who have a mistaken idea of friendship? They think they must shield a friend even to the extent of doing injustice8 to others, no matter what he has done."
Derrick Forman flushed under this remark and shot a quick questioning glance at his aunt; did she possibly surmise9 how sorely he was being tempted10 just now in that very direction? A "false sense of honor," was it really that? How much did she know, anyhow? Whatever she knew or surmised11 she made no sign, and continued her story:
"Well, that is just what poor Derrick did; stuck to it that he was telling the truth, and did not know anything about that money belt. And as he was used to being believed he was amazed to find that they doubted him. In a moment of horror over the discovery that some people actually thought him a thief, he did, as you said, the very worst thing for himself that he could do—ran away."
"Was my father at home then?" interrupted Derrick.
"Oh, no; Joseph had been gone from home for two years, when Derrick went away."
"But didn't father go back home for vacations and such things?"
"Not very often, nor for long at a time; he was with your Grandfather Stuart, you know. I don't think he was very happy at home. He and Evarts didn't get on well together."
"I don't wonder at that!" young Derrick interrupted under his breath. His aunt took no notice.
"And mother—mother didn't understand boys very well; Evarts was the only boy she ever had, you know, and Joseph and Derrick were different from him, and so—well, I needn't go into that; but after I was grown up I had a feeling that perhaps mother was—was a little hard on Derrick; I don't know; she meant to be good."
Aunt Elsie's eyes had dimmed and her voice faltered12. Her nephew was watching her with keen, searching eyes. In his heart was a thought that, given voice, would have been: "If she goes back on her own mother I won't have anything to do with her." He was conscious of a distinct feeling of relief when her voice dropped into silence. Still he was eager for more and urged her on with a question:
"Didn't grandfather believe what his son said? My father would take my word in spite of all the evidence against me that could be trumped13 up."
"You have a good father, Derrick; I hope you will see to it that you honor the trust he has in you. Your Uncle Derrick made a mistake; I can't deny that; he would be the last one to want me to; and father, I suppose, was stern; he was the very soul of honor himself, and there had never been a stain on the family name; he didn't mean to be oversevere, and mother didn't but—" That last little word was eloquent14, especially when followed by silence.
Derrick shook himself impatiently and sat up straight; his heart was beginning to insist on some one besides Aunt Elsie who would champion his Uncle Derrick; she was not noticing him; she sat with folded hands and eyes dropped; apparently15 she had gone back into the past. After a moment she began again:
"As a matter of fact your Uncle Derrick did not run away, he simply ran after that young man, Horace Beach. I don't believe he ever meant to stay away; he just thought, boy fashion, that he would find Horace and get everything straightened out. You see, it was this way: When they went out of the room that night Derrick remembered that he must look after the furnace before he went upstairs, so he handed the money belt to Horace and told him to lay it in Colonel Banks' room, and that was the last he ever saw of it! He wouldn't mention that part, because he thought it would be casting suspicion on his friend; and Horace was to leave at daylight the next morning, so he had a good chance, you see, to make away with it."
"Well, didn't he follow the sneak, and make him own up?" young Derrick asked, in great excitement.
"Oh, yes, he followed him, all right; that was why he seemed to be running away; he went off in a hurry, without explaining anything to anybody. But he was too late in New York; the steamer that was to carry Horace out to his mother in London had ready sailed. So, then, the poor boy wrote to him, and it must have been a pitiful letter; he begged Horace to own up to it for the sake of father—Derrick just about worshipped his father, and he knew it was breaking his heart to think that a son of his had become a thief!"
"But, Aunt Elsie, I don't understand it at all! How did you find all this out, and when?"
"I didn't find it out until long afterwards. Horace Beach answered the poor boy's letter with an indignant denial of any knowledge of the money belt, even hinting at the belief that Derrick had taken it himself, and was trying to put the blame on him! And it wasn't until death came to the rescue, years and years afterwards, that we knew the truth. Horace Beach, on his dying bed, had the whole story written out, his confession16, you know, and his terrible remorse17 for the whole thing. The minister, who had been coming every day to see him, wrote it out just as he told it, and as soon as Horace was gone he sent it to Derrick. But by the time it reached him Horace had been in the grave for more than a month; you see, nobody knew just where he was, and that good minister went to all sorts of trouble to have him traced."
"And when did my uncle come home?"
"He never came home, Derrick; we never saw him again. You see, he was dumbfounded over Horace's answer to his appeal; he had fully18 counted on his making everything right; up to that time he believed in his friend, and thought that it could all be accounted for by a confession of carelessness on his part. Then he began to realize how his own rushing away would look; and it seemed to him that he could not go back without any proof of his innocence19, since they had not believed his word; so he just stayed away. He was only a boy, remember, and couldn't realize how much better a straight-forward course all through would have been. He got a chance to work his way out West, about as far as he could get, in those days, and there he stayed; all the time hoping and believing that something would happen to make it possible for him to go home with an unstained name. But the confession came too late for father. When at last Derrick wrote the full account of it to mother, sending her copies of the minister's letters, father had been gone for a long time. Derrick knew that; he managed somehow to get news of the family though we never any of us heard from him. He wrote to mother several times, after that; and sent her the $100 that was in the money belt, with interest, to be forwarded to Colonel Banks. Horace Beach himself had looked out for that part. He hadn't the excuse of poverty to plead for his theft; they had plenty of money; but it seems he had got into some scrape and made debts that he knew his guardian20 would not allow, and this money belt full of gold came to him as an easy way out of trouble. He knew he was going abroad for a long stay, and he knew that Colonel Banks was a rich man; it seems he thought that there wouldn't be much fuss made about so small a sum as a hundred dollars, and that by the time he came home it would all have been forgotten. The dishonesty of it did not seem to trouble him; he must have been very strangely brought up."
"So my grandfather died before it was straightened out," interrupted Derrick. "That's too bad! But they let everybody know about it then, of course? Why wasn't father told?"
"That," said Aunt Elsie, earnestly, "is a part that I can not understand. Evarts had the business of the family to attend to, and we supposed, of course—Derrick, are you quite sure that your father doesn't know about it?"
"Of course I am, dead sure; it isn't two months since he reminded me, one night in talk we were having, that I had my grandfather's name, which no breath of dishonor had ever sullied, so far as he was concerned; and while he didn't say anything out plain about Uncle Derrick—he never has to me—he knew that I understood where the dishonor came in. That wouldn't have been one bit like father, if he had known all this."
"No," said Aunt Elsie, "it wouldn't." Then she set her lips in a way that made her firm chin look firmer still, as she added: "He shall know it, though, before I am a day older."
It was at that moment that Mrs. Forman returned to remind Derrick that it was growing late and that he had a hard day's work coming.
"That's so," the boy said, springing up: "And I've got a whole page to copy into my exercise book before I sleep!" Whereupon he kissed his mother in haste and disappeared.
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1
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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2
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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3
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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4
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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5
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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6
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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7
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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8
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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9
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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10
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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11
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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12
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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13
trumped
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| v.（牌戏）出王牌赢（一牌或一墩）( trump的过去分词 )；吹号公告，吹号庆祝；吹喇叭；捏造 | |
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14
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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15
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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16
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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17
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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18
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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19
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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20
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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