Twelve thousand dollars? said Edward.
She said it, said the doctor.
This was not a matter for haggling over. Edward cabled his lawyer to raise the money. It arrived, and that evening Edward and his wonderful charge set off for Chicago. There he took a hotel room for her to rest in between trams. He wrote some letters, and went downstairs to mail them. He noticed a man and a woman standing by the desk. He thought they looked extremely unsavoury.
This is the gentleman, said the receptionist
Mr. Laxton? said the man.
My daughter! cried the woman in a heartrending tone. Where's my little girl? My baby!
What does this mean? cried Edward, moving with them to a deserted side-hall
Kidnapping, white-slave trade, and violation of the Mann Act, said the man.
Sold like a chattel! cried the woman. Like a white slave!
What is the Mann Act? asked Edward.
You move a dame, any dame but your wife or daughter, outa one state into another, said the man, and that's the Mann Act Two years.
Prove she's your daughter, said Edward.
Listen, wise guy, said the man, if half a dozen of the hometown folks aren't enough for you, they'll be enough for the district attorney. Do you see that guy standing by the desk in there? He's the hotel dick. Boy, I've only got to whistle.
You want money, said Edward at last
I want my Rosie, said the woman.
We drew twenty per for Rosie, said the man. Yeah, she kept her folks.
Edward argued with them for a time. Their demand was for twenty thousand dollars. He cabled once more to England, and soon afterwards paid over the money, and received in exchange a document surrendering all parental rights and appointing him the true and legal guardian of the sleeping girl.
Edward was stunned. He moved on to New York in a sort of dream. The phrases of that appalling interview repeated themselves constantly in his mind. It was with a horrible shock that he realized the same phrases, or others very like them, were being launched at him from outside. A seedy but very businesslike-looking clergyman had buttonholed him in the foyer of his hotel.
He was talking about young American womanhood, purity, two humble members of his flock, the moral standards of the State of Tennessee, and a girl called Susie-May. Behind him stood two figures, which, speechless themselves, were calculated to take away the power of speech from any man.
It is true, then, said Edward, about hillbillies?
That name, sir, said the clergyman, is not appreciated in the mountain country of .
And so her real name is Susie-May? said Edward. And I have her upstairs? Then the other parents were crooks. I knew it! And these want their daughter back. How did they hear of it?
Your immoral act, sir, said the clergyman, has had nationwide press publicity for the last three days.
I should read the papers, said Edward. These people want to take the girl back to some filthy cabin
Humble, said the clergyman, but pure.
and no doubt sell her to the next rascally showman that passes. He spoke at length of the purity of his intentions, and the excellent care he proposed to take of Susie-May.
Mr. Laxton, said the clergyman, have you ever thought what a mother's heart really means?
Last time, said Edward, it meant twenty thousand dollars.
One should never be witty, even when in the depths of despair. The words twenty thousand were rumblingly echoed, as from a mountain cavern, from the deep mouth of the male parent, whose aged eye took on a forbidding gleam.
From that moment the conversation was mere persiflage. Edward asked leave to walk up and down by himself for a little time, in order to think and breathe more freely.
This will take the last penny of my capital, he thought I shall have nothing to live on. Susie will need the most expensive doctors. Ah, well, I can be happy with her if I sell the estate and retain only the keeper's cottage. We shall then have four or five hundred a year, as many stars as before, and the deep woods all round us. I'll do it.
He did not do quite that for he found that hasty sales do not usually result in prices proportionate to the beauty and the value of estates. There were also some legal fees to be paid, one or two little presents to be made in the interests of haste, and some heavy hotel and travelling expenses.
When all was done, Edward found his fortune had dwindled to a very little more than two hundred a year, but he had the cottage, with Orion towering above it and the mighty woods all round. He would walk up and down outside, and watch the treacly yellow candlelight shine through the tiny pane, and exult in knowing that all the beauty of the world was casketed there. At such moments he was the happiest of men.
There was only one fly in his ointment. The man who had bought the estate turned out to be something less than simpatico.
He seemed, somehow, hardly right for the place. Edward was no doubt a little prejudiced, but it seemed to him that this man had the loudest, most hectoring and boastful voice ever heard, that his clothes were too new, his manicure too conspicuous, his signet ring too massive and too bright. His features, also, lacked delicacy. But if, as Edward maintained, he had the appearance of a hog, he made it very obvious that he was an extremely wealthy one. He had some blood-chilling intentions for what he called little improvements on the estate.
Compared with the fate of his beloved land, Edward's other troubles were of no great importance. In spite of his legal guardianship of his lovely charge, one of the local papers condemned him as a libertine, while the other treated the matter with revolting levity. His richer relations disclaimed further acquaintance with him; his poorer ones called to expostulate. A lady of strong moral principle struck him several times with an umbrella in the High Street at Shepton-Mallet.
While all this was going on, he had by diligent enquiry found out an endocrinologist of acknowledged genius. The great man proved to be an enthusiast, and was always throwing up important engagements in London to rush down and take another look at Susie-May. Edward trembled to think of what the bill would be.
At last a day arrived when the doctor came down the narrow little stairway, and, brushing a cobweb from his sleeve, regarded Edward with a complacent smile. I have some good news for you, said he. Yesterday I heard from Vienna, from Wertheimer.
Good news, you say? said Edward, his heart beginning to beat very fast Do you mean you can wake her?
Not only wake her, rejoined the specialist, but keep her awake. Here's the preparation, made up by Wertheimer's people in accordance with the reports I've been sending in. Very ordinary-looking capsules, as you see; nevertheless, they mark an epoch. Do you see the label? To be administered at 9 A.M. and 6 P.M. Not about nine, or around six. Is that quite comprehensible to you? demanded the doctor.
I understand you, said Edward. These have to be given at exactly the right time.
Or she will very quickly fall asleep again, continued the doctor sternly.
Now tell me when she will wake, demanded Edward.
It may be twenty-four hours, or it may be forty-eight, replied the doctor. Or it may be even longer.
He added a good many little instructions, repeated his admonition as to punctual dosage some half a dozen times or so, brushed another cobweb from his sleeve, and departed.
Edward passed the next two days in a state of exaltation, qualified by certain misgivings. Most of all he feared she might be frightened at waking and finding herself in a strange place, alone with a strange man. He thought of asking the village girl, who attended to her by day, to stay overnight and sit by her, but he could not give up the right to be with her when she woke.