only knew how you must be on your guard to avoid
these pitfalls. And you have such a long road ahead of
you. Will you be ever watchful and try always to cling to
the teachings of our Saviour that your mother has
always tried to impress upon the minds and hearts of
all you dear children? Will you stop and listen to the
voice of our Lord that is ever with us, guiding our
footsteps safely up the rocky path that leads to a
heaven more beautiful than we can ever imagine here?
Promise me, my child, that you will hold fast to all your
early teachings and always bear in mind that “right is
might,” and my boy, never, never, take a drink of any
kind no matter who offers it to you. There is where the
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devil reigns in all his glory and is ever ready to triumph
over the weak one. Remember always what I have told
you so often “Strong drink is raging and wine is a
mocker,” and it is my earnest prayer that these words
will ring in your ears every time you are tempted—for I
am sure now that that was perhaps the real cause of
that terrible accident.
I suffered terribly over that, Clyde, and just at the time
when I had such a dreadful ordeal to face with Esta. I
almost lost her. She had such an awful time. The poor
child paid dearly for her sin. We had to go in debt so
deep and it took so long to work it out—but finally we
did and now things are not as bad as they were, quite.
As you see, we are now in Denver. We have a mission
of our own here now with housing quarters for all of us.
Besides we have a few rooms to rent which Esta, and
you know she is now Mrs. Nixon, of course, takes care
of. She has a fine little boy who reminds your father and
me of you so much when you were a baby. He does
little things that are you all over again so many times
that we almost feel that you are with us again—as you
were. It is comforting, too, sometimes.
Frank and Julie have grown so and are quite a help to
me. Frank has a paper route and earns a little money
which helps. Esta wants to keep them in school just as
long as we can.
Your father is not very well, but of course, he is getting
older, and he does the best he can.
I am awful glad, Clyde, that you are trying so hard to
better yourself in every way and last night your father
was saying again that your uncle, Samuel Griffiths, of
Lycurgus, is so rich and successful and I thought that
maybe if you wrote him and asked him to give you
something there so that you could learn the business,
perhaps he would. I don’t see why he wouldn’t. After all
you are his nephew. You know he has a great collar
business there in Lycurgus and he is very rich, so they
say. Why don’t you write him and see? Somehow I feel
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that perhaps he would find a place for you and then you
would have something sure to work for. Let me know if
you do and what he says.
I want to hear from you often, Clyde. Please write and
let us know all about you and how you are getting
along. Won’t you? Of course we love you as much as
ever, and will do our best always to try to guide you
right. We want you to succeed more than you know,
but we also want you to be a good boy, and live a
clean, righteous life, for, my son, what matter it if a man
gaineth the whole world and loseth his own soul?
Write your mother, Clyde, and bear in mind that her
love is always with you—guiding you—pleading with
you to do right in the name of the Lord.
Affectionately,
MOTHER.
And so it was that Clyde had begun to think of his uncle
Samuel and his great business long before he encountered
him. He had also experienced an enormous relief in
learning that his parents were no longer in the same
financial difficulties they were when he left, and safely
housed in a hotel, or at least a lodging house, probably
connected with this new mission.
Then two months after he had received his mother’s first
letter and while he was deciding almost every day that he
must do something, and that forthwith, he chanced one day
to deliver to the Union League Club on Jackson Boulevard
a package of ties and handkerchiefs which some visitor to
Chicago had purchased at the store, for which he worked.
Upon entering, who should he come in contact with but
Ratterer in the uniform of a club employee. He was in
charge of inquiry and packages at the door. Although
neither he nor Ratterer quite grasped immediately the fact
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that they were confronting one another again, after a
moment Ratterer had exclaimed: “Clyde!” And then seizing
him by an arm, he added enthusiastically and yet cautiously
in a very low tone: “Well, of all things! The devil! Whaddya
know? Put ‘er there. Where do you come from anyhow?”
And Clyde, equally excited, exclaimed, “Well, by jing, if it
ain’t Tom. Whaddya know? You working here?”
Ratterer, who (like Clyde) had for the moment quite
forgotten the troublesome secret which lay between them,
added: “That’s right. Surest thing you know. Been here for
nearly a year, now.” Then with a sudden pull at Clyde’s
arm, as much as to say, “Silence!” he drew Clyde to one
side, out of the hearing of the youth to whom he had been
talking as Clyde came in, and added: “Ssh! I’m working
here under my own name, but I’d rather not let ’em know
I’m from K. C., see. I’m supposed to be from Cleveland.”
And with that he once more pressed Clyde’s arm genially
and looked him over. And Clyde, equally moved, added:
“Sure. That’s all right. I’m glad you were able to connect.
My name’s Tenet, Harry Tenet. Don’t forget that.” And both
were radiantly happy because of old times’ sake.
But Ratterer, noticing Clyde’s delivery uniform, observed:
“Driving a delivery, eh? Gee, that’s funny. You driving a
delivery. Imagine. That kills me. What do you want to do
that for?” Then seeing from Clyde’s expression that his
reference to his present position might not be the most
pleasing thing in the world, since Clyde at once observed:
“Well, I’ve been up against it, sorta,” he added: “But say, I
want to see you. Where are you living?” (Clyde told him.)
“That’s all right. I get off here at six. Why not drop around
after you’re through work. Or, I’ll tell you—suppose we meet
at—well, how about Henrici’s on Randolph Street? Is that
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246
all right? At seven, say. I get off at six and I can be over
there by then if you can.”
Clyde, who was happy to the point of ecstasy in meeting
Ratterer again, nodded a cheerful assent.
He boarded his wagon and continued his deliveries, yet for
the rest of the afternoon his mind was on this approaching
meeting with Ratterer. And at five-thirty he hurried to his
barn and then to his boarding house on the west side,
where he donned his street clothes, then hastened to
Henrici’s. He had not been standing on the corner a minute
before Ratterer appeared, very genial and friendly and
dressed, if anything, more neatly than ever.
“Gee, it’s good to have a look at you, old socks!” he began.
“Do you know you’re the only one of that bunch that I’ve
seen since I left K. C.? That’s right. My sister wrote me after
we left home that no one seemed to know what became of
either Higby or Heggie, or you, either. They sent that fellow
Sparser up for a year—did you hear that? Tough, eh? But
not so much for killing the little girl, but for taking the car
and running it without a license and not stopping when
signaled. That’s what they got him for. But say,”—he
lowered his voice most significantly at this point—“we’da
got that if they’d got us. Oh, gee, I was scared. And run?”
And once more he began to laugh, but rather hysterically at
that. “What a wallop, eh? An’ us leavin’ him and that girl in
the car. Oh, say. Tough, what? Just what else could a
fellow do, though? No need of all of us going up, eh? What
was her name? Laura Sipe. An’ you cut out before I saw
you, even. And that little Briggs girl of yours did, too. Did