Sandy (rising, excited and confused). Excuse me, miss, I am a little onsartain HERE (pointing to his head). I can't—I disremember—what you said jus' now: ye mentioned the name o' that prodigal that was found.
Miss Mary. Certainly: compose yourself,—my cousin's son, Alexander Morton. Listen, Sandy, you promised ME, you know, you said for MY sake you would not touch a drop. (Enter cautiously toward schoolhouse the DUCHESS, stops on observing SANDY, and hides behind rock.)
Sandy (still bewildered and incoherent). I reckon. Harkin, miss, is that thar thing (pointing towards rock where DUCHESS is concealed)—is that a tree, or—or—a woman? Is it sorter movin' this way?
Miss Mary (laying her hand on SANDY'S). Recover your senses, for Heaven's sake, Sandy,—for MY sake! It is only a tree.
Sandy (rising). Then, miss, I've broke my word with ye: I'm drunk. P'r'aps I'd better be a-goin' (looking round confusedly) till I'm sober. (Going toward L.)
Miss Mary (seizing his hand). But you'll see me again, Sandy: you'll come here—before—before—I go?
Sandy. Yes, miss,—before ye go. (Staggers stupidly toward L. Aside.) Found him! found Alexander Morton! It's a third time, Sandy, the third time: it means—it means—you're mad! (Laughs wildly, and exit L.)
Miss Mary (springing to her feet). There is a mystery behind all this, Mary Morris, that you—you—must discover. That man was NOT drunk: he HAD NOT broken his promise to me. What does it all mean? I have it. I will accept the offer of this Alexander Morton. I will tell him the story of this helpless man, this poor, poor, reckless Sandy. With the story of his own son before his eyes, he cannot but interest himself in his fate. He is rich: he will aid me in my search for Sandy's father, for Sandy's secret. At the worst, I can only follow the advice of this wretched man,—an advice so generous, so kind, so self-sacrificing. Ah—
SCENE 4.—The same. Enter the DUCHESS, showily and extravagantly dressed. Her manner at first is a mixture of alternate shyness and bravado.
The Duchess. I heerd tell that you was goin' down to 'Frisco to-morrow, for your vacation; and I couldn't let ye go till I came to thank ye for your kindness to my boy,—little Tommy.
Miss Mary (aside. Rising abstractedly, and recalling herself with an effort). I see,—a poor outcast, the mother of my anonymous pupil. (Aloud.) Tommy! a good boy,—a dear, good little boy.
Duchess. Thankee, miss, thankee. If I am his mother, thar ain't a sweeter, dearer, better boy lives than him. And, if I ain't much as says it, thar ain't a sweeter, dearer, angeler teacher than he's got. It ain't for you to be complimented by me, miss; it ain't for such as me to be comin' here in broad day to do it, either; but I come to ask a favor,—not for me, miss, but for the darling boy.
Miss Mary (aside—abstractedly). This poor, degraded creature will kill me with her wearying gratitude. Sandy will not return, of course, while she is here. (Aloud.) Go on. If I can help you or yours, be assured I will.
The Duchess. Thankee, miss. You see, thar's no one the boy has any claim on but me, and I ain't the proper person to bring him up. I did allow to send him to 'Frisco, last year; but when I heerd talk that a schoolma'am was comin' up, and you did, and he sorter tuk to ye natril from the first, I guess I did well to keep him yer. For, oh, miss, he loves ye so much; and, if you could hear him talk in his purty way, ye wouldn't refuse him anything.
Miss Mary (with fatigued politeness, and increasing impatience). I see, I see: pray go on.
The Duchess (with quiet persistency). It's natril he should take to ye, miss; for his father, when I first knowed him, miss, was a gentleman like yourself; and the boy must forget me sooner or later—and I ain't goin' to cry about THAT.
Miss Mary (impatiently). Pray tell me how I can serve you.
The Duchess. Yes, miss; you see, I came to ask you to take my Tommy,—God bless him for the sweetest, bestest boy that lives!—to take him with you. I've money plenty; and it's all yours and his. Put him in some good school, whar ye kin go and see, and sorter help him to—forget–his mother. Do with him what you like. The worst you can do will be kindness to what he would learn with me. You will: I know you will; won't you? You will make him as pure and as good as yourself; and when he has grown up, and is a gentleman, you will tell him his father's name,—the name that hasn't passed my lips for years,—the name of Alexander Morton.
Miss Mary (aside). Alexander Morton! The prodigal! Ah, I see,—the ungathered husks of his idle harvest.
The Duchess. You hesitate, Miss Mary. (Seizing her.) Do not take your hand away. You are smiling. God bless you! I know you will take my boy. Speak to me, Miss Mary.
Miss Mary (aloud). I will take your child. More than that, I will take him to his father.
The Duchess. No, no! for God's sake, no, Miss Mary! He has never seen him from his birth: he does not know him. He will disown him. He will curse him,—will curse me!
Miss Mary. Why should he? Surely his crime is worse than yours.
The Duchess. Hear me, Miss Mary. (Aside.) How can I tell her? (Aloud.) One moment, miss. I was once—ye may not believe it, miss—as good, as pure, as you. I had a husband, the father of this child. He was kind, good, easy, forgiving,—too good for me, miss, too simple and unsuspecting. He was what the world calls a fool, miss: he loved me too well,—the kind o' crime, miss,—beggin' your pardon, and all precepts to the contrairy,—the one thing that women like me never forgives. He had a pardner, miss, that governed him as HE never governed me; that held him with the stronger will, and maybe ME too. I was young, miss,—no older than yourself then; and I ran away with him,—left all, and ran away with my husband's pardner. My husband—nat'rally—took to drink. I axes your pardin', miss; but ye'll see now, allowin' your larnin', that Alexander Morton ain't the man as will take my child.
Miss Mary. Nonsense. You are wrong. He has reformed; he has been restored to his home,—your child's home, your home if you will but claim it. Do not fear: I will make that right.
Enter SANDY slowly and sheepishly, R.; stops on observing the Duchess, and stands amazed and motionless.
Miss Mary (observing SANDY—aside). He HAS returned. Poor fellow! How shall I get rid of this woman? (Aloud.) Enough. If you are sincere, I will take your child, and, God help me! bring him to his home and yours. Are you satisfied?
The Duchess. Thank ye! Thank ye, miss; but—but thar's a mistake somewhar. In course—it's natural—ye don't know the father of that child, my boy Tommy, under the name o' Alexander Morton. Ye're thinking, like as not, of another man. The man I mean lives yer, in this camp: they calls him Sandy, miss,—SANDY!
Miss Mary (after a pause, coming forward passionately). Hush! I have given you my answer, be it Alexander Morton or Sandy. Go now: bring me the child this evening at my house. I will meet you there. (Leads the DUCHESS to wing. The DUCHESS endeavors to fall at her feet.)
The Duchess. God bless you, miss!
Miss Mary (hurriedly embracing her). No more, no more—but go!
[Exit DUCHESS. MISS MARY returns hurriedly to centre, confronting SANDY.
Miss Mary (to SANDY, hurriedly and excitedly). You have heard what that woman said. I do not ask you under what alias you are known here: I only ask a single question.—Is SHE your wife? are you the father of her child?
Sandy (sinking upon his knees before her, and covering his face with his hands). I am!
Miss Mary. Enough! (Taking flower from her bosom.) Here, I give you back the flower you gave me this morning. It has faded and died here upon my breast. But I shall replace it with your foundling,—the child of that woman, born like that flower in the snow! And I go now, Sandy, and leave behind me, as you said this morning, the snow and rocks in which it bloomed. Good-by! Farewell, farewell—forever! (Goes toward schoolhouse as—)
Enter COL. STARBOTTLE.
Miss Mary (to STARBOTTLE). You are here in season, sir. You must have come for an answer to your question. You must first give me one to mine. Who is this man (pointing to SANDY), the man you met upon the rocks this morning?
Col. Starbottle. Ahem! I am—er—now fully prepared and responsible, I may say, miss—er—personally responsible, to answer that question. When you asked it this morning, the ordinary courtesy of the—er—code of honor threw a—er—cloak around the—er—antecedents of the—er—man whom I had—er—elected by a demand for personal satisfaction, to the equality of myself, an—er—gentleman! That—er—cloak is now removed. I have waited six hours for an apology or a—er—reply to my demand. I am now free to confess that the—er—person you allude to was first known by me, three months ago, as an inebriated menial,—a groom in the household of my friend Don Jose Castro,—by the—er—simple name of "Diego."
Miss Mary (slowly). I am satisfied. I accept my cousin's invitation.
[Exit slowly, supported by COL. STARBOTTLE, R.
As STARBOTTLE and MISS MARY exeunt R., CONCHO and HOP SING enter cautiously, L. SANDY slowly rises to his feet, passes his hand across his forehead, looks around toward exit of STARBOTTLE and MISS MARY.
Sandy (slowly, but with more calmness of demeanor). Gone, gone—forever! No: I am not mad, nor crazed with drink. My hands no longer tremble. There is no confusion here. (Feeling his forehead). I heard them all. It was no dream. I heard her every word. Alexander Morton, yes, they spoke of Alexander Morton. She is going to him, to my father. She is going—she, Mary, my cousin—she is going to my father. He has been seeking me—has found—ah! (Groans.) No, no, Sandy! Be patient, be calm: you are not crazy—no, no, good Sandy, good old boy! Be patient, be patient: it is coming, it is coming. Yes, I see: some one has leaped into my place; some one has leaped into the old man's arms. Some one will creep into HER heart! No! by God! No! I am Alexander Morton. Yes, yes! But how, how shall I prove it?—how? Who (CONCHO steps cautiously forward towards SANDY unobserved) will believe the vagabond, the outcast—my God!—the crazy drunkard?
Concho (advancing, and laying his hand on SANDY). I will!
Sandy (staggering back amazedly). You!
Concho. Yes,—I, I,—Concho! You know me, Diego, you know me,—Concho, the major-domo of the Blessed Innocents. Ha! You know me now. Yes, I have come to save you. I have come to make you strong. So—I have come to help you strip the Judas that has stepped into your place,—the sham prodigal that has had the fatted calf and the ring,—ah! ah!
Sandy. You? You do not know me!
Concho. Ah! you think, you think, eh? Listen: Since you left I have tracked HIM—THE IMPOSTOR, this Judas, this coyote—step by step, until his tracks crossed yours; and then I sought you out. I know all. I found a letter you had dropped; that brought me to Poker Flat. Ah, you start! I have seen those who knew you as Alexander Morton. You see! Ah, I am wise.
Sandy (aside). It is true. (Aloud.) But (suspiciously) why have you done this? You, Concho?—you were not my friend.
Concho. No, but HE is my enemy. Ah, you start! Look at me, Alexander Morton, Sandy, Diego! You knew a man, strong, active, like yourself. Eh! Look at me now! Look at me, a cripple! Eh! lame and crushed here (pointing to his leg), broken and crushed here (pointing to his heart), by him,—the impostor! Listen, Diego. The night I was sent to track you from the rancho, he—this man—struck me from the wall, dashed me to the earth, and made MY BODY, broken and bruised, a stepping-stone to leap the wall into your place, Diego,—into your father's heart,—into my master's home. They found me dead, they thought,—no, not dead, Diego! It was sad, they said,—unfortunate. They nursed me; they talked of money—eh, Diego!—money! They would have pensioned me to hush scandal—eh! I was a dog, a foreigner, a Greaser! Eh! That is why I am here. No! I love you not, Diego; you are of his race; but I hate—Mother of God!—I HATE him!
Sandy (rising to his feet, aside). Good! I begin to feel my courage return: my nerves are stronger. Courage, Sandy! (Aloud.) Be it so, Concho: there is my hand! We will help each other,—you to my birthright, I to your revenge! Hark ye! (SANDY'S manner becomes more calm and serious.) This impostor is NO craven, NO coyote. Whoever he is, he must be strong. He has most plausible evidences. We must have rigid proofs. I will go with you to Poker Flat. There is one man, if he be living, knows me better than any man who lives. He has done me wrong,—a great wrong, Concho,—but I will forgive him. I will do more,—I will ask his forgiveness. He will be a witness no man dare gainsay—my partner—God help him and forgive him as I do!—John Oakhurst.
Concho. Oakhurst your partner!
Sandy (angrily). Yes. Look ye, Concho, he has wronged me in a private way: that is MY business, not YOURS; but he was MY partner, no one shall abuse him before me.
Concho. Be it so. Then sink here! Rot here! Go back to your husks, O prodigal! wallow in the ditches of this camp, and see your birthright sold for a dram of aguardiente! Lie here, dog and coyote that you are, with your mistress under the protection of your destroyer! For I tell you—I, Concho, the cripple—that the man who struck me down, the man who stepped into your birthright, the man who to-morrow welcomes your sweetheart in his arms, who holds the custody of your child, is your partner,—John Oakhurst.
Sandy (who has been sinking under CONCHO'S words, rising convulsively to his feet). God be merciful to me a sinner! (Faints.)
Concho (standing over his prostrate body exultingly). I am right. You are wise, Concho, you are wise! You have found Alexander Morton!
Hop Sing (advancing slowly to SANDY'S side, and extending open palm). Me washee shirt flo you, flowty dozen hab. You no payee me. Me wantee twenty dollar hep. Sabe!
Curtain.
END OF ACT II.
ACT III
SCENE 1.—The bank parlor of Morton & Son, San Francisco. Room richly furnished; two square library desks, left and right. At right, safe in wall; at left, same with practicable doors. Folding door in flat C., leading to counting-room. Door in left to private room of ALEXANDER MORTON, sen.; door in right to private room of MORTON, jun. ALEXANDER MORTON, sen., discovered at desk R., opening and reading letters.
Morton, sen. (laying down letter). Well, well, the usual story; letters from all sorts of people, who have done or intend to do all sorts of things for my reclaimed prodigal. (Reads.) "Dear Sir: five years ago I loaned some money to a stranger who answers the description of your recovered son. He will remember Jim Parker,—Limping Jim, of Poker Flat. Being at present short of funds, please send twenty dollars, amount loaned, by return mail. If not convenient, five dollars will do as instalment." Pshaw! (Throws letter aside, and takes up another.) "Dear Sir: I invite your attention to enclosed circular for a proposed Home for Dissipated and Anonymous Gold-Miners. Your well-known reputation for liberality, and your late valuable experience in the reformation of your son, will naturally enlist your broadest sympathies. We enclose a draft for five thousand dollars, for your signature." We shall see! Another: "Dear Sir: the Society for the Formation of Bible Classes in the Upper Stanislaus acknowledge your recent munificent gift of five hundred dollars to the cause. Last Sabbath Brother Hawkins of Poker Flat related with touching effect the story of your prodigal to an assemblage of over two hundred miners. Owing to unusual expenses, we regret to be compelled to draw upon you for five hundred dollars more." So! (Putting down letter.) If we were given to pride and vainglory, we might well be puffed up with the fame of our works and the contagion of our example: yet I fear that, with the worldly-minded, this praise of charity to others is only the prayerful expectation of some personal application to the praiser. (Rings hand-bell.)
Enter JACKSON.
(To JACKSON.) File these letters (handing letters) with the others. There is no answer. Has young Mr. Alexander come in yet?
Jackson. He only left here an hour ago. It was steamer day yesterday: he was up all night, sir.
Old Morton (aside). True. And the night before he travelled all night, riding two hours ahead of one of our defaulting agents, and saved the bank a hundred thousand dollars. Certainly his devotion to business is unremitting. (Aloud.) Any news from Col. Starbottle?
Jackson. He left this note, sir, early this morning.
Old Morton (takes it, and reads). "I think I may say, on my own personal responsibility, that the mission is successful. Miss Morris will arrive to-night with a female attendant and child." (To JACKSON.) That is all, sir. Stop! Has any one been smoking here?
Jackson. Not to my knowledge, sir.
Old Morton. There was a flavor of stale tobacco smoke in the room this morning when I entered, and ashes on the carpet. I KNOW that young Mr. Alexander has abandoned the pernicious habit. See that it does not occur again.
Jackson. Yes, sir. (Aside.) I must warn Mr. Alexander that his friends must be more careful; and yet those ashes were good for a deposit of fifty thousand.
Old Morton. Is any one waiting?
Jackson. Yes, sir,—Don Jose Castro and Mr. Capper.
Old Morton. Show in the Don: the policeman can wait.
Jackson. Yes, sir. [Exit.
Old Morton (taking up STARBOTTLE'S note). "Miss Morris will arrive to-night." And yet he saw her only yesterday. This is not like her mother: no. She would never have forgiven and forgotten so quickly. Perhaps she knew not my sin and her mother's wrongs; perhaps she has—has—CHRISTIAN forgiveness (sarcastically); perhaps, like my prodigal, she will be immaculately perfect. Well, well: at least her presence will make my home less lonely. "An attendant and child." A child! Ah, if HE, my boy, my Alexander, were still a child, I might warm this cold, cold heart in his sunshine! Strange that I cannot reconstruct from this dutiful, submissive, obedient, industrious Alexander,—this redeemed outcast, this son who shares my life, my fortunes, my heart,—the foolish, wilful, thoughtless, idle boy, that once defied me. I remember (musing, with a smile) how the little rascal, ha, ha! once struck me,—STRUCK ME!—when I corrected him: ha, ha! (Rubbing his hands with amusement, and then suddenly becoming grave and lugubrious.) No, no. These are the whisperings of the flesh. Why should I find fault with him for being all that a righteous conversion demands,—all that I asked and prayed for? No, Alexander Morton: it is you, YOU, who are not yet regenerate. It is YOU who are ungrateful to Him who blessed you, to Him whose guiding hand led you to—
Enter JACKSON.
Jackson. Don Jose Castro.
Enter DON JOSE.
Don Jose. A thousand pardons, senor, for interrupting you in the hours of business; but it is—it is of business I would speak. (Looking around.)
Old Morton (to JACKSON). You can retire. (Exit JACKSON.) Be seated, Mr. Castro: I am at your service.
Don Jose. It is of your—your son—
Old Morton. Our firm is Morton & Son: in business we are one, Mr. Castro.
Don Jose. Bueno! Then to you as to him I will speak. Here is a letter I received yesterday. It has significance, importance perhaps. But, whatever it is, it is something for you, not me, to know. If I am wronged much, Don Alexandro, you, you, are wronged still more. Shall I read it? Good. (Reads.) "The man to whom you have affianced your daughter is not the son of Alexander Morton. Have a care. If I do not prove him an impostor at the end of six days, believe me one, and not your true friend and servant, Concho." In six days, Don Alexandro, the year of probation is over, and I have promised my daughter's hand to your son. (Hands letter to MORTON.)
Old Morton (ringing bell). Is that all, Mr. Castro?
Don Jose. All, Mr. Castro? Carramba! is it not enough?
Enter JACKSON.
Old Morton (to JACKSON). You have kept a record of this business during the last eighteen months. Look at this letter. (Handing letter.) Is the handwriting familiar?
Jackson (taking letter). Can't say, sir. The form is the old one.
Old Morton. How many such letters have you received?
Jackson. Four hundred and forty-one, sir. This is the four hundred and forty-second application for your son's position, sir.
Don Jose. Pardon. This is not an application: it is only information or caution.
Old Morton (to JACKSON). How many letters of information or caution have we received?
Jackson. This makes seven hundred and eighty-one, sir.
Old Morton. How, sir! (Quickly.) There were but seven hundred and seventy-nine last night.
Jackson. Beg pardon, sir! The gentleman who carried Mr. Alexander's valise from the boat was the seven hundred and eightieth.
Old Morton. Explain yourself, sir.
Jackson. He imparted to me, while receiving his stipend, the fact that he did not believe young Mr. Alexander was your son. An hour later, sir, he also imparted to me confidentially that he believed you were his father, and requested the loan of five dollars, to be repaid by you, to enable him to purchase a clean shirt, and appear before you in respectable condition. He waited for you an hour, and expressed some indignation that he had not an equal show with others to throw himself into your arms.
Don Jose (rising, aside, and uplifting his hands). Carramba! These Americanos are of the Devil! (Aloud.) Enough, Don Alexandro! Then you think this letter is only worth—
Old Morton. One moment. I can perhaps tell you exactly its market value. (To JACKSON.) Go on, sir.
Jackson. At half-past ten, sir, then being slightly under the influence of liquor, he accepted the price of a deck passage to Stockton.
Old Morton. How much was that, sir?
Jackson. Fifty cents.
Old Morton. Exactly so! There you have, sir (to DON JOSE), the market value of the information you have received. I would advise you, as a business matter, not to pay more. As a business matter, you can at any time draw upon us for the amount. (To JACKSON.) Admit Mr. Capper. [Exit JACKSON.
Don Jose (rising with dignity). This is an insult, Don Alexandro.
Old Morton. You are wrong, Mr. Castro: it is BUSINESS; sought, I believe, by yourself. Now that it is transacted, I beg you to dine with me to-morrow to meet my niece. No offence, sir, no offence. Come, come! Business, you know, business.
Don Jose (relaxing). Be it so! I will come. (Aside.) These Americanos, these Americanos, are of the Devil! (Aloud.) Adios. (Going.) I hear, by report, that you have met with the misfortune of a serious loss by robbery?
Old Morton (aside). So our mishap is known everywhere. (Aloud.) No serious misfortune, Mr. Castro, even if we do not recover the money. Adios.
[Exit Don Jose.
Old Morton. The stiff-necked Papist! That he should dare, for the sake of his black-browed, froward daughter, to—question the faith on which I have pinned my future! Well, with God's blessing, I gave him some wholesome discipline. If it were not for my covenant with Alexander—and nobly he has fulfilled his part,—I should forbid his alliance with the blood of this spying Jesuit.
Enter Mr. JACKSON, leading in CAPPER.
Jackson. Policeman, sir. [Exit.
Capper (turning sharply). Who's that man?
Old Morton. Jackson, clerk.
Capper. Umph! Been here long?
Old Morton. A year. He was appointed by my son.
Capper. Know anything of his previous life?
Old Morton (stiffly). I have already told you he is an appointee of my son's.
Capper. Yes! (Aside.) "Like master, like man." (Aloud.) Well, to business. We have worked up the robbery. We have reached two conclusions,—one, that the work was not done by professionals; the other, consequent upon this, that you can't recover the money.
Old Morton. Excuse me, sir, but I do not see the last conclusion.
Capper. Then listen. The professional thief has only one or two ways of disposing of his plunder, and these ways are always well known to us. Good! Your stolen coin has not been disposed of in the regular way, through the usual hands which we could at any time seize. Of this we are satisfied.
Old Morton. How do you know it?
Capper. In this way. The only clew we have to the identification of the missing money were two boxes of Mexican doubloons.
Old Morton (aside). Mr. Castro's special deposit! He may have reason for his interest. (Aloud.) Go on.
Capper. It is a coin rare in circulation in the interior. The night after the robbery, the dealer of a monte-table in Sacramento paid out five thousand dollars in doubloons. He declared it was taken in at the table, and could not identify the players. Of course, OF COURSE! So far, you see, you are helpless. We have only established one fact, that the robber is—is—(significantly) a gambler.
Old Morton (quietly). The regular trade of the thief seems to me to be of little importance if you cannot identify him, or recover my money. But go on, sir, go on: or is this all?
Capper (aside). The old fool is blind. That is natural. (Aloud.) It is not all. The crime will doubtless be repeated. The man who has access to your vaults, who has taken only thirty thousand dollars when he could have secured half a million,—this man, who has already gambled that thirty thousand away,—will not stop there. He will in a day or two, perhaps to-day, try to retrieve his losses out of YOUR capital. I am here to prevent it.
Old Morton (becoming interested). How?
Capper. Give me, for forty-eight hours, free access to this building. Let me conceal myself somewhere, anywhere, within these walls. Let it be without the knowledge of your clerks, even of YOUR SON!
Old Morton (proudly). Mr. Alexander Morton is absent to-day. There is no other reason why he should not be here to consent to the acts of his partner and father.
Capper (quickly). Very good. It is only to insure absolute secrecy.
Old Morton (aside). Another robbery might excite a suspicion, worse for our credit than our actual loss. There is a significant earnestness about this man, that awakens my fears. If Alexander were only here. (Aloud.) I accept. (CAPPER has been trying doors R. and L.)
Capper. What room is this? (At R.)
Old Morton. My son's: I would prefer—
Capper. And this? (At L.)
Old Morton. Mine, sir; if you choose—
Capper (locking door, and putting key in his pocket). This will do. Oblige me by making the necessary arrangements in your counting-room.
Old Morton (hesitating and aside). He is right: perhaps it is only prudence, and I am saving Alexander additional care and annoyance. [Exit.
Enter MR. SHADOW cautiously, C.
Shadow (in a lisping whisper to CAPPER). I've got the litht of the clerkth complete.
Capper (triumphantly). Put it in your pocket, Shadow. We don't care for the lackeys now: we are after the master.
Shadow. Eh! the mathter?
Capper. Yes: the master,—the young master, the reclaimed son, the reformed prodigal! ha, ha!—the young man who compensates himself for all t