CHAPTER XXXI

OUTWARD BOUND

It was Saturday night and Andrew Harmon, editor of the Telegram and Evening News, was sitting in an easy chair in his bachelor quarters.  It was a cozy room, and the pictures on the walls and the well-filled book-shelves revealed the artistic and literary taste of the owner.  The large shaded electric lamp on the table cast its soft light upon Harmon’s face as he sat there with his right hand supporting his firm, clean-shaven chin.  It had been a trying week, and he was very weary.  He was thankful that it was Saturday night, as he would be able to rest the next day, and think over a special editorial he was planning to write.

Harmon was really a lonely man.  Of a reserved and retiring disposition, he had no desire for publicity.  As editor of one of the leading papers in the city, he could express his views and remain unknown to most of the readers.  His editorials were always written with great care and thought, and they were eagerly read by friends and opponents alike.  Such work had always given him considerable pleasure as he felt that he was doing his part in moulding the thought of the community along true and strong lines.  But to-night it all seemed of little avail.  He had labored, but what had been the result?  The only one upon whom he had lavished his affection had disappointed him, and was almost a stranger to him now.  Mechanically he picked up a telegram from the table and read it again.

“Am leaving to-night on the Princess May.

    “TOM.”

That was all.  It was dated three days ago, from Skagway, Alaska.  Harmon held the telegram in his hand for some time, although he was not looking at the words.  He was thinking of the sender of that message, wondering what was bringing him home.  What would he do with him when he arrived? he asked himself.  He tried to think of something that would satisfy Reynolds’ restless spirit; that would give an outlet to his abounding energy.  He had fondly hoped that Tom would throw himself into newspaper work, and thus make the Telegram and Evening News a greater force than ever.  New blood was needed on the staff, he was well aware, and Reynolds was just the man for the work.  He sighed as he thought of the futility of his dreams, and how impossible it was to make the young see with the eyes of age and experience.

For some time Harmon sat there, lost in deep thought.  At length he arose and prepared himself for dinner.  He was about to leave the room, when a knock sounded upon the door, and in another instant Tom Reynolds stood before him.  Eagerly Harmon rushed forward, seized him by the hand, and bade him a hearty welcome.

“Tom, Tom!” he cried.  “I am delighted to see you.  I had no idea the boat had arrived.  Come, sit down and tell me all about yourself.”

“Just a minute,” Reynolds laughingly replied.  “Have you had dinner yet?  No?  Well, that’s fortunate, as I want you to come and dine with me at the ‘Pacific.’”