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<h3>Chapter XVII</h3> As Michael had no definite knowledge of either his exact age, or what month his birthday came, there could be no day set for his coming of age. The little information that could be gathered from his own memory of how many summers and winters he had passed showed that he was approximately seven years old at the time of the shooting affray. If that were correct it would make him between nineteen and twenty at the time of his graduation. On the first day of July following his first winter in New York Michael received a brief letter from Mr. Endicott, containing a check for a thousand dollars, with congratulations on his majority and a request that he call at the office the next day. Michael, eager, grateful, overwhelmed, was on hand to the minute appointed. The wealthy business man, whose banking affairs had long since righted themselves, turned from his multifarious duties, and rested his eyes upon the young fellow, listening half-amused to his eager thanks. The young man in truth was a sight to rest weary eyes. The winter in New York had put new lines into his face and deepened the wells of his blue eyes; they were the work of care and toil and suffering, but—they had made a man’s face out of a boy’s fresh countenance. There was power in the fine brow, strength in the firm, well-moulded chin, and both kindliness and unselfishness in the lovely curves of his pleasant lips. The city barber had been artist enough not to cut the glorious hair too short while yet giving it the latest clean cut curve behind the ears and in the neck. By instinct Michael’s hands were well cared for. Endicott’s tailor had looked out for the rest. “That’s all right, son,” Endicott cut Michael’s sentence short. “I’m pleased with the way you’ve been doing. Holt tells me he never had a more promising student in his office. He says you’re cut out for the law, and you’re going to be a success. But what’s this they tell me about you spending your evenings in the slums? I don’t like the sound of that. Better cut that out.” Michael began to tell in earnest protesting words of what he was trying to do, but Endicott put up an impatient hand: “That’s all very well, son, I’ve no doubt they appreciate your help and all that, and it’s been very commendable in you to give your time, but now you owe yourself something, and you owe the world something. You’ve got to turn out a great lawyer and prove to the world that people from that district are worth helping. That’s the best way in the long run to help those people. Give them into somebody else’s hands now. You’ve done your part. When you get to be a rich man you can give them something now and then if you like, but it’s time to cut out the work now. That sort of thing might be very popular in a political leader, but you’ve got your way to make and it’s time you gave your evenings to culture, and to going out into society somewhat. Here’s a list of concerts and lectures for next winter. You ought to go to them all. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it this winter, but perhaps it was as well not to go too deep at the start. However, you ought to waste no more time. I’ve put your application in for season tickets for those things on that list, and you’ll receive tickets in due time. There’s an art exhibition or two where there are good things to be seen. You’ve got to see and hear everything if you want to be a thoroughly educated man. I said a word or two about you here and there, and I think you’ll receive some invitations worth accepting pretty soon. You’ll need a dress suit, and I had word sent to the tailor about it this morning when it occurred to me—” “But,” said Michael amazed and perturbed, “I do not belong in society. People do not want one like me there. If they knew they would not ask me.” “Bosh! All bosh! Didn’t I tell you to cut that out? People don’t know and you’ve no need to tell them. They think you are a distant relative of mine if they think anything about it, and you’re not to tell them you are not. You owe it to me to keep still about it. If I guarantee you’re all right that ought to suit anybody.” “I couldn’t go where people thought I was more than I was,” said Michael, head up, eyes shining, his firmest expression on his mouth, but intense trouble in his eyes. It was hard to go against his benefactor. “You got all those foolish notions from working down there in the slums. You’re got a false idea of yourself and a false notion of right and wrong. It’s high time you stopped going there. After you’ve been to a dance or two and a few theatre suppers, and got acquainted with some nice girls who’ll invite you to their house-parties you’ll forget you ever had anything to do with the slums. I insist that you give that work up at once. Promise me you will not go near the place again. Write them a letter—” “I couldn’t do that!” said Michael, his face expressive of anguish fighting with duty. “Couldn’t! Nonsense. There is no such word. I say I want you to do it. Haven’t I proved my right to make that request?” “You have,” said Michael, dropping his sorrowing eyes slowly, and taking out the folded check from his pocket. “You have the right to ask it, but I have no right to do what you ask. I have begun the work, and it would not be right to stop it. Indeed, I couldn’t. If you knew what it means to those fellows—but I cannot keep this if you feel that way! I was going to use it for the work—but now—” Michael’s pauses were eloquent. Endicott was deeply touched but he would not show it. He was used to having his own way, and it irritated, while it pleased him in a way, to have Michael so determined. As Michael stopped talking he laid the check sadly on the desk. “Nonsense!” said Endicott irritably, “this has nothing to do with the check. That was your birthday present. Use it as you like. What I have given I have given and I won’t take back even if I have nothing more to do with you from this time forth. I have no objection to your giving away as much money as you can spare to benevolent institutions, but I say that I do object to your wasting your time and your reputation in such low places. It will injure you eventually, it can’t help it. I want you to take your evenings for society and for lectures and concerts—” “I will go to the concerts and lectures gladly,” said Michael gravely. “I can see they will be fine for me, and I thank you very much for the opportunity, but that will not hinder my work. It begins always rather late in the evening, and there are other times—” “You’ve no business to be staying out in places like that after the hour of closing of decent places of amusement.” Michael refrained from saying that he had several times noticed society ladies returning from balls and entertainments when he was on his way home. “I simply can’t have it if I’m to stand back of you.” “I’m, sorry,” said Michael. “You won’t ever know how sorry I am. It was so good to know that I had somebody who cared a little for me. I shall miss it very much. It has been almost like having a real father. Do you mean that you will have to give up the—fatherliness?” Endicott’s voice shook with mingled emotions. It couldn’t be that this young upstart who professed to be so grateful and for whom he had done so much would actually for the sake of a few wretched beings and a sentimental feeling that he belonged in the slums and ought to do something for them, run the risk of angering him effectually. It could not be! “It means that I shall not do any of the things I had planned to do for you, if you persist in refusing my most reasonable request. Listen, young man—” Michael noticed with keen pain that he had dropped the customary “son” from his conversation, and it gave him a queer choky sensation of having been cut off from the earth. “I had planned”—the keen eyes searched the beautiful manly face before him and the man’s voice took on an insinuating tone; the tone he used when he wished to buy up some political pull; the tone that never failed to buy his man. Yet even as he spoke he felt an intuition that here was a man whom he could not buy— “I had planned to do a good many things for you. You will be through your studies pretty soon and be ready to set up for yourself. Had you thought ahead enough to know whether you would like a partnership in some old firm or whether you want to set up for yourself?” Michael’s voice was grave and troubled but he answered at once: “I would like to set up for myself, sir. There are things I must do, and I do not know if a partner would feel as I do about them.” “Very well,” said Endicott with satisfaction. He could not but be pleased with the straightforward, decided way in which the boy was going ahead and shaping his own life. It showed he had character. There was nothing Mr. Endicott prized more than character—or what he called character: “Very well, when you get ready to set up for yourself, and I don’t think that is going to be so many years off from what I hear, I will provide you an office, fully furnished, in the most desirable quarter of the city, and start you off as you ought to be started in order to win. I will introduce you to some of my best friends, and put lucrative business in your way, business with the great corporations that will bring you into immediate prominence; then I will propose your name for membership in two or three good clubs. Now those things I will do because I believe you have it in you to make good; but you’ll need the boosting. Every man in this city does. Genius alone can’t work you up to the top; but I can give you what you need and I mean to do it, only I feel that you on your part ought to be willing to comply with the conditions.” There was a deep silence in the room. Michael was struggling to master his voice, but when he spoke it was husky with suppressed feeling: “It is a great plan,” he said. “It is just like you. I thank you, sir, for the thought, with all my heart. It grieves me more than anything I ever had to do to say no to you, but I cannot do as you ask. I cannot give up what I am trying to do. I feel it would be wrong for me. I feel that it is imperative, sir!” “Cannot! Humph! Cannot! You are like all the little upstart reformers, filled with conceit of course. You think there is no one can do the work but yourself! I will pay some one to do what you are doing! Will that satisfy you?” Michael slowly shook his head. “No one could do it for pay,” he said with conviction. “It must be done from—perhaps it is love—I do not know. But anyway, no one was doing it, and I must, for THEY ARE MY PEOPLE!” As he said this the young man lifted his head with that angel-proud look of his that defied a universe to set him from his purpose, and Endicott while he secretly reveled in the boy’s firmness and purpose, yet writhed that he could not control this strength as he would. “Your people! Bosh! You don’t even know that! You may be the son of the richest man in New York for all you know.” “The more shame mine, then, if he left me where you found me! Mr. Endicott, have you ever been down in the alley where I used to live? Do you know the conditions down there?” “No, nor I don’t want to go. And what’s more I don’t want you to go again. Whatever you were or are, you ought to see that you are mine now. Why, youngster, how do you know but you were kidnapped for a ransom, and the game went awry? There are a thousand explanations of your unknown presence there. You may have been lost—” “Then have I not a debt to the people with whom I lived!” “Oh, poppycock!” exclaimed the man angrily. “We’d better close the conversation. You understand how I feel. If you think it over and change your mind come back and tell me within the week. I sail Saturday for Europe. I may not be back in three or four months. If you don’t make up your mind before I go you can write to me here at the office and my secretary will forward it. You have disappointed me beyond anything I could have dreamed. I am sure when you think it over you will see how wrong you are and change your mind. Until then, good-bye!” Michael arose dismissed, but he could not go that way. “I shall not change my mind,” he said sadly, “but it is terrible not to have you understand. Won’t you let me tell you all about it? Won’t you let me explain?” “No, I don’t want to hear any explanations. There is only one thing for me to understand and that is that you think more of a set of vagabonds in an alley than you do of my request!” “No! That is not true!” said Michael. “I think more of you than of any living man. I do not believe I could love you more if you were my own father. I would give my life for you this minute—” “There is an old word somewhere that says, ‘To obey is better than sacrifice.’ Most people think they would rather be great heroes than do the simple every-day things demanded of them. The test does not always prove that they would—” Michael’s head went up almost haughtily, but there were great tears in his eyes. Endicott dropped his own gaze from that sorrowful face. He knew his words were false and cruel. He knew that Michael would not hesitate a second to give his life. But the man could not bear to be withstood. “If you feel that way I cannot take this!” Michael sadly, proudly held out the check. “As you please!” said Endicott curtly. “There’s the waste-basket. Put it in if you like. It isn’t mine any longer. You may spend it as you please. My conditions have nothing to do with what is past. If you do not prize my gift to you by all means throw it away.” With a glance that would have broken Endicott’s heart if he had not been too stubborn to look up, Michael slowly folded the check and put it back into his pocket. “I do prize it,” he said, “and I prize it because you gave it to me. It meant and always will mean a great deal to me.” “H’m!” “There is one more thing perhaps I ought to tell you,” hesitated Michael “The farm. I am using it in my work for those people. Perhaps you will not approve of that—” “I have nothing further to do with the farm. You bought it, I believe. You desired to pay for it when you were earning enough money to be able to do so. That time has not yet come, therefore nothing further need be said. It is your farm and you may use it as a pleasure park for pigs if you like. I don’t go back on my bargains. Good afternoon.” Endicott turned to the ’phone, took up the receiver and called up a number. Michael saw that the conversation was ended. Slowly, with heavy step and heavier heart, he went out of the office. There were new lines of sadness on Michael’s face that day, and when he went down to the alley that evening his gentleness with all the little “kids,” and with the older ones, was so great that they looked at him more than once with a new kind of awe and wonder. It was the gentleness of sacrifice, of sacrifice for them, that was bringing with it the pain of love. Old Sal who came over to “look in” that evening, as she put it, shook her head as she stumped back to her rejuvenated room with its gaudy flowered wall, bit of white curtain and pot of flowers in the window, all the work of Michael and his follower Sam. “I’m thinkin’ he’ll disuppeer one o’ these days. Ye’ll wake up an’ he’ll be gahn. He’s not of this worrld. He’ll sprid his wings an’ away. He’s a man-angel, thet’s wot he is!” Michael went home that night and wrote a letter to Mr. Endicott that would have broken a heart of stone, telling his inmost thought; showing his love and anguish in every sentence; and setting forth simply and unassumingly the wonderful work he was doing in the alley. But though he waited in anxiety day after day he received not a word of reply. Endicott read the letter every word, and fairly gloated over the boy’s strength, but he was too stubborn to let it be known. Also he rather enjoyed the test to which he was putting him. Michael even watched the outgoing vessels on Saturday, looked up the passenger lists, went down to the wharf and tried to see him before he sailed, but for some reason was unable to get in touch with him. Standing sadly on the wharf as the vessel sailed he caught sight of Endicott, but though he was sure he had been seen he received no sign of recognition, and he turned away sick at heart, and feeling as if he had for conscience’s sake stabbed one that loved him. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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