Petroleum industry and trade -- Texas -- Fiction; Texas -- History -- 20th century -- Fiction
Her ready acceptance of the invitation he construed to indicate an
eagerness akin to his own, and during the several hours they were
together he had hard work to keep from breaking his resolve and telling
her all she had come to mean to him.
"Bob" seemed to expect something of the sort, as a matter of fact. Her
shyness, her fluttering agitation when his voice unconsciously became
tender--and he realized that, in spite of himself, the tone of his
voice conveyed a message quite at variance with his words--taxed his
self-control to the utmost. Well, it wouldn't be long now--another two
weeks perhaps! But two weeks is an eternity when hearts are pounding,
when ears are strained and lips are waiting.
Two callers were awaiting Gray when, late that afternoon, he mounted
the stairs to his office--Tom Parker and Judge Halloran--and something
in their formal, awkward greeting sent a quick chill of alarm through
him. Mechanically he ushered them into his private room and offered
them chairs. He heard himself chatting casually enough, but neither his
own words nor theirs conveyed much meaning to him. Nelson, it seemed,
scorned no advantage, however dishonorable. Gray's hatred of the man
attained deeper, blacker depths than ever. To-day of all days! What a
reckoning was due!
The two old men were talking, one lamely supplementing the other's
efforts to lead up to the object of their visit. Gray turned a set face
to Tom Parker finally, and interrupted by saying:
"Permit me to ease your embarrassment, sir. You object to my attentions
to your daughter. Is that it?" Tom dropped his eyes and mumbled an
uncomfortable affirmative. "Not, I hope, because you question the
nature of my intentions?"
"Oh no!"
"I'd say yes and no to that," Halloran declared, argu-mentatively. "Tom
and I are gentlemen of the old school; we live by the code and 'Bob' is
our joint property, in a way. Any man who aspires to the honor
of--well, of even paying attentions to that girl must stand the acid
test. There must be no blot upon his 'scutcheon."
"You imply, then, that there is a blot upon mine?"
"That is what prompts our visit, sir. Can you assure us that there is
none?"
After a moment of hesitation Gray inquired, curiously: "Judge, do you
believe that a man can live down disgrace?"
"Disgrace, yes. Dishonor, never! A man's honor is so sensitive that to
stain it is to wound it. Like the human eye it cannot suffer the
slightest injury without serious damage."
The younger man ignored the pompous tone of this speech; he nodded. "I
see. Someone said also that it is like an island, rugged and without
landing place; and once outside of it we can never re-enter. That is
your idea, I dare say."
"Precisely!"
Tom Parker stirred; irritably he broke out, "I'm damned if I think you
did it!"
"Did what?"
Tom remained silent, but when his companion drew a deep, preparatory
breath, Gray lifted a hand. He rose nervously and in a changed tone
continued:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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