Saunders sighed. It was a wicked world into which her boy had to go to earn his living, evidently.
"And now, mother, I really must be off. I'll stay at home to-morrow night and take my scolding like a man. Good-night."
He kissed her and hurried away before she could say anything more, leaving her sitting there with folded hands to await, with her customary patience and just a trifle of apprehension, the coming of her husband. There was no mistaking the heavy footfall. Mrs. Saunders smiled sadly as she heard it, remembering that Dick had said once that, even if he were safe within the gates of Paradise, the sound of his father's footsteps would make the chills run up his backbone. She had reproved the levity of the remark at the time, but she often thought of it, especially when she knew there was trouble ahead—as there usually was.
"Where's Richard? Isn't he home yet?" were the old man's first words.
"He has been home, but he had to go out again. He had an appointment."
"Did you tell him I wanted to speak with him?"
"Yes, and he said he would stay home to-morrow night."
"Did he know what I said to-night?"
"I'm not sure that I told him you——"
"Don't shuffle now. He either knew or he did not. Which is it?"
"Yes, he knew, but he thought it might not be urgent, and he——"
"That will do. Where is his appointment?"
"At the club, I think."
"Ah-h-h!" The old man dwelt on the exclamation as if he had at last drawn out the reluctant worst. "Did he say when he would be home?"
"No."
"Very well. I will wait half-an-hour for him, and if he is not in by that time I will go to his club and have my talk with him there."
Old Mr. Saunders sat grimly down with his hat still on, and crossed his hands over the knob of his stout walking-stick, watching the clock that ticked slowly against the wall. Under these distressing circumstances the old woman lost her presence of mind and did the very thing she should not have done. She should have agreed with him, but instead of that she opposed the plan and so made it inevitable. It would be a cruel thing, she said, to shame their son before his friends, to make him a laughing-stock among his acquaintances. Whatever was to be said could be said as well to-morrow night as to-night, and that in their own home, where, at least, no stranger would overhear. As the old man made no answer but silently watched the clock, she became almost indignant with him. She felt she was culpable in entertaining even the suspicion of such a feeling against her lawful husband, but it did seem to her that he was not acting judiciously towards Dick. She hoped to turn his resentment from their son to herself, and would have welcomed any outburst directed against her alone. In this excited state, being brought, as it were, to bay, she had the temerity to say—
"You are wrong about one thing, and you may also be wrong in thinking
Dick—in—in what you think about Dick."
The old man darted one lowering look at her, and though she trembled, she welcomed the glance as indicating the success of her red herring.
"What was I wrong about?"
"You were wrong—Mr. Hammond knows Dick is a member of the club. He is a member himself and he insisted Dick should join. That's why he raised his salary."
"A likely story! Who told you that?"
"Dick told me himself."
"And you believed it, of course!" Saunders laughed in a sneering, cynical sort of way and resumed his scrutiny of the clock. The old woman gave up the fight and began to weep silently, hoping, but in vain, to hear the light step of her son approaching the door. The clock struck the hour; the old man rose without a word, drew his hat further over his brow, and left the house.
Up to the last moment Mrs. Saunders hardly believed her husband would carry out his threat. Now, when she realised he was determined, she had one wild thought of flying to the club and warning her son. A moment's consideration put that idea out of the question. She called the serving-maid, who came, as it seemed to the anxious woman, with exasperating deliberation.
"Jane," she cried, "do you know where the Athletic Club is? Do you know where Centre Street is?"
Jane knew neither club nor locality.
"I want a message taken there to Dick, and it must go quickly. Don't you think you could run there——"
"It would be quicker to telegraph, ma'am," said Jane, who was not anxious to run anywhere. "There's telegraph paper in Mr. Richard's room, and the office is just round the corner."
"That's it, Jane; I'm glad you thought of it. Get me a telegraph form.
Do make haste."
She wrote with a trembling hand, as plainly as she could, so that her son might have no difficulty in reading:—
"Richard Saunders, Athletic Club, Centre Street.
"Your father is coming to see you. He will be at the club before half-an-hour."
"There is no need to sign it; he will know his mother's writing," said Mrs. Saunders, as she handed the message and the money to Jane; and Jane made no comment, for she knew as little of telegraphing as did her mistress. Then the old woman, having done her best, prayed that the telegram might arrive before her husband; and her prayer was answered, for electricity is more speedy than an old man's legs.
Meanwhile Mr. Saunders strode along from the suburb to the city. His stout stick struck the stone pavement with a sharp click that sounded in the still, frosty, night air almost like a pistol shot. He would show both his wife and his son that he was not too old to be master in his own house. He talked angrily to himself as he went along, and was wroth to find his anger lessening as he neared his destination. Anger must be very just to hold its own during a brisk walk in evening air that is cool and sweet.
Mr. Saunders was somewhat abashed to find the club building a much more imposing edifice than he had expected. There was no low, groggy appearance about the True Blue Athletic Club. It was brilliantly lit from basement to attic. A group of men, with hands in pockets, stood on the kerb as if waiting for something. There was an air of occasion about the place. The old man inquired of one of the loafers if that was the Athletic Club.
"Yes, it is," was the answer; "are you going in?"
"I intend to."
"Are you a member?"
"No."
"Got an invitation?"
"No."
"Then I suspect you won't go in. We've tried every dodge ourselves."
The possibility of not getting in had never occurred to the old gentleman, and the thought that his son, safe within the sacred precincts of a club, might defy him, flogged his flagging anger and aroused his dogged determination.
"I'll try, at least," he said, going up the stone steps.
The men watched him with a smile on their lips. They saw him push the electric button, whereupon the door opened slightly. There was a brief, unheard parley; then the door swung wide open, and, when Mr. Saunders entered, it shut again.
"Well, I'm blest!" said the man on the kerb; "I wonder how the old duffer worked it. I wish I had asked him." None of the rest made any comment; they were struck dumb with amazement at the success of the old gentleman, who had even to ask if that were the club.
When the porter opened the door he repeated one of the questions asked a moment before by the man on the kerb.
"Have you an invitation, sir?"
"No," answered the old man, deftly placing his stick so that the barely opened door could not be closed until it was withdrawn. "No! I want to see my son, Richard Saunders. Is he inside?"
The porter instantly threw open the door.
"Yes,