Chapter VI

Dear John [so ran the first letter from Cavanaugh after the
latter returned to Ridgeville]--I hardly know how to begin
this letter. Since I got home I declare everything here
seems awfully tame. That was a wonderful visit I had as I
look back on it. I wish it could have gone on forever. I am
glad I saw you, for a lot of reasons. You were lonely and
blue, my boy. Even your partner spoke to me about you. He
said since Dora left that you was really in danger of a
nervous breakdown. Mrs. McGwire and her oldest girl said the
same thing. They were all worried about you, and so am I.

I've got a confession to make, and the sooner it is made the
better I'll feel. John, you know how a town like this one
is. The folks here love to gossip about anything they can
pick up, and I'm going to tell you that when it got
circulated among some of your old work friends that I'd gone
to New York a few of them began to nose about and make
inquiries. They thought it was such a peculiar thing, you
see, for a man of my age and habits to do that they kept
talking and talking and joking and what not. Then, as might
have been expected, Todd Williams, who you remember thought
he saw you on the train in New York, put his finger into the
pie. He told it about that he was now more sure than ever
that it was you he saw on the train and that I had gone up
there to see you. That did the job, and I don't know what to
do about it. Folks meet me on the street and ask about you
as if it was a settled fact that you never died in that
wreck, and, with their eyes staring straight into mine, I
don't know what to do or say. John, I don't know how to lie
with a sober face. The more I shifted about and tried to get
out of it the more they believed it, till now, no matter
what I say, they only laugh and make fun and say that I'm
keeping something back. So please tell me what to do. The
truth is that the facts, if they get out, will never harm
you in any way. It is now so long since you left that only a
very few that used to know you are alive or here. The fever
for going West struck most of your old friends and they
moved away. I really think that I'd advise you not to keep
the truth back any longer. Questions are asked about what
came of Dora, and if I say that she is married and gone away
it will end all sorts of idle speculations.

If I've got you into a fix in this matter please forgive me,
for it all came about through no intention of mine. If I
could lie as straight as some contractors can beat down the
price of material or wages, I'd have got you out of this,
but I'm getting old and I'm like a baby in the hands of
these mouthing, tattling folks. Oh, how I wish you could
come down here! You'd not feel as bad about all that has
happened if you'd come down and visit me and my wife, and
throw it off like an old worn-out coat. What a joy it would
be to give you a room and see you seated at our humble
board! Think it over, my boy. Life is short at best, and we
ought to spend part of it with the folks that really love
us, and we love you, John--both of us do.

John sat down in his room one night to answer this letter, but, though he tried very hard, he could think of little to say. Cavanaugh's simple phrases had sounded his deepest emotional depths, and yet he could not bring himself to write an appropriate response. He started to mention the death of Binks, but gave that up. That, he argued, would only cause his old friend to be the more deeply concerned over his welfare. So he wrote the most cheerful letter of which he was capable, about his activity in business matters, and his ability to look on the bright side of such things as the absence of Dora and his unmarried state. He ended the letter with this:

Yes, I fully agree with you in regard to a frank and
truthful statement about my being alive, etc. I understand
the situation and don't blame you at all. Tell every one who
cares to inquire that the newspaper report was a mistake and
that you saw me while you were here. I want to see you and
your wife as badly as you want to see me, but I'm afraid I
cannot come down, now, at any rate.