After fifteen years, he broke his resolve and went to them with his
only appeal. He wanted to die with his children about him. That was
all. He did not ask them to love him, or forgive him. He only asked
them to call him father and to let him spend the last weeks of his
life within the sound of their voices.
Sitting at the supper table, he grimly related his experiences to the
distressed Bingles.
"I went first to Angela's, Tom," he said, scowling at the centre-
piece. "Angela married that Mortimer fellow in Sixty-first Street, you
know--Clarence Mortimer's son. Ever seen their home? Well, the butler
told me to go around to the rear entrance. I gave him my card and told
him to take it up to MY DAUGHTER. I had a fellow in a drug-store write
my name neatly on some blank cards, Mary. The butler threatened to
call the police. He thought I was crazy. But just then old Clarence
Mortimer came up the steps. It seems that he is living with his son,
having lost all of his money a few years ago. He recognised me at
once, and I knew by the way he shook hands with me that he has been
leading a dog's life ever since he went broke.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50