Rensselaer Union, Volume 2, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 August 1870 — MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL. [ARTICLE]

MR. THOMPSON'S PRODIGAL.

BY F. BRET HARTE.

Thompson was looking WMiHponjind a pretty bad one at that Teat Mwas coming to California for tl# BefeHjnject was bo secret to hia Uie physical peculiamS*. SQWj, s$ the moral weaknesses, 0( th# uk prodigal were made equally MfllKHHFrihreugh the frank volubility parent. “You was speaUpg of 1 riming man which was hung at Ke« DogfoMuice-robbing,” said Mr. Thompfoip*tQ ir steerage passenger, one day; “ beyon hware of the color of his eyes?" “Black,” responded the passenger. “ Ah," said Mr. Thompson, referring to some mental memoranda, “Charles’ eyes was blue.” He then walked away. Perhaps it/vsuf from this unsympathetic mode of inquiryperhaps it was from that Western predilection to take a humorous view of any principle or Bentimga* 'JfeOrajkteqtlt brought before them, tui Ks 'lfipmppon's quest was the subject or safir* among the paasengera A gratuitous advertisement of the missing Charles;;addressed to "Jailors and Guardians,” circulated privately among them; everybody remembered So have met Charles under distressing circumstances. Yet it is but due to my countrymen to state ; that when it was known that Thompson Imd embarked some wealth in this vMonary project, but little of this satire found its way to his ears, and nothing was uttered in his hearing that might bring a pang to a father’s heart, or imperil a possible pecuniary advantage of the satirist. Indeed, Mr. Bracy Tibbets’ jocular proposition to form a joint-stock company to “ prospect ’’ for the missing youth, received at one time quite serious entertainment. Perhaps, to superficial criticism, Mr. Thompson’s nature was not picturesque nor lovable. His history, as imparted at dinner one day, by himself, was practical even in its singularity. After a hard and willful youth and maturity-in which he had buried a broken-spirited wife, and driven his son to sea—he suddenly experienced religion. “I got it in New Orleans in ’59,” said Mr. Thompson, with the general suggestion of referring to an epidemic. “ Enter ye the narror gate. Parse me the beans.” Perhaps this practical quality upheld him in his apparently hopeless search. He had no clue to the whereabouts of his runaway son—indeed, scarcely a proof of his present existence. Prom his indifferent recollection of the boy of twelve, he now expected to identify the man of twenty five. It would seem that he was successful. How he succeeded w; s one of the few things, he did not tell. There arc, I be lieve, two versions of the story. One, that Mr. Thompson, visiting a hospital, discovered his son by reason of a peculiar hymn, chanted by the sufferer, in a delirious dream of his boyhood. This version, giving as it did, wide range to the finer feelings Of the heart, was quite popular. The other was more simple, and, as I shall adopt it here, deserves more elaboration. . It was after Mr. Thompson had given up searching for his son among the living, and had taken to the examination of cemeteries, and a careful inspection of the “cold hie jacets of the dead.” At this time he was a irequent visitor of “ Lone Mountain”—a dreary hill top, bleak enough in its original isolation, and bleaker for the white faced marbles by which San Francisco anchored her departed citizens, and kept them down in a shifting sand that refused to cover them,' and against a fierce and persistent wind that strove to blow them utterly away. Against this wind the old man opposed a will quite as persistent—a grizzled, hard face, and a tall crape-bound hat drawn tightly over his eyes—and so spent his days in reading the mortuary inscriptions audibly to himself. Tho frequency of scriptural quotation pleased him, and he was fond of corroborating them by a pocket Bible. “ That’s from Psalms," he said, one day, to an adjacent grave-digger. The man made no reply. Not at all rebuffed, Mr.,Thompson at Once slid down ’into tho open grave, with a more practical inquiry, “ Hid you ever, in your profession, come across Char les Thompson ?” *Thompson be d—d," said thegravedigger, with great directnesa “ Which, if he hadn’t’religion,'l think he is,” responded tho old man, as he clambered out of the grave. It was, perhaps, on this’ occasion, that Mr. Thompson stayed later than usual. As he turned hte tkoe toward the city, ligEii -were beginning to twinklo ahead, and a fierce wind, made visible by fog, drove him forward, or lying in wait, charged him angrily from tho corners of deserted suburban streets. It was on one of these corners that something else, quite as indistinct and malevolent, leaped upon him with an oath, a presented pistol and a demand for money. ''But ft was met with a will of iron and a grip, of steel. The assailant and assailed rolled together on the ground. But the nnri moment the old man was erect! one hand grasping the captured pistol, the other clutching at arm ,® length the throat of a figure surly, youthftd and savage. “ Y v ° ! u ”?, n,a ?." “to Mr. Thompson, setting his thin lips together, “ what might be your name?” “ Thompson!’ l The old man’s hand slid from the throat to the arm of his prisoner, without relaxing its firmness. “ Char les Thompson, come with me,” he said, presently, and marched his captive to tho hotel. What took place there has not transpired, but it was known tho next morning that Mr. Thompson had found his sofa; • , It is propej to add to the above improbable story, that'there was nothing in the young man’s appearance or manners to

Justify ft. (have, reticent, and handsome, devoted to his newly found parent, he assumed the emoluments and responsibilities of his hew cAndltfoH with a certain .serious ease that more nearly approached that which San Frapclscq. society lacked,, and—rejected. tocdMffiMthls quality as a tendency to “psalm-singing; ” others saw in it theffnherited qualities of the parent, and were ready -to prophecy for the son the same hard old age. But all agreed that it was uot inconsistent with the habits of money-getting, for Which father and son were respected. And yet, the old man did not seem to be happy. Perhaps it was that the consummation of MS wishes less him . without a practical mission: perhaps—and it is the mofe probable—he had little love for the son he bad regained. The 1 obedience he exacted Was freely given, the reform he had set his heart upon was complete; and yet, somehow, it did not seem tq please him. In reclaiming his son, he had fulfilled aQ the requirements that his religious duty required of him, and yet the act seemed to lack sanctification. In this perplexity, he read again the parable of the Prodigal Son—which he had iong ago adopted for his guidance—and fontfd that he had omitqd the final feast of reconciliation. This seemed to offer the proper quality of ceremoniousness In the sacrament between himself and bis son; and so, a year after the appearance of Charles, he set about giving him a everybody, Char-les,” he said, dryly; “ everybody who knows that I brought you out of the winehusks of iniquity and evil company; and bid them eat, drink and be merry.” Perhaps the old man-had anotherreason, not yet clearly analyzed. The fine house he had built on the s»nd-hills sometimes seemed lonely and ban. He often found himself trying to reconstruct, from the grave features of Charles, the little boy which he but dimly remembered in the past, and of which lately he had been thinking a great deal. He believed this to be a sign of impending old age and childishness; but coming, one day, in his formal drawing-room, upon a child of one of the servants, who had stayed therein, lie would have taken him In his arms, but the child fled before his grizzled face. So that it seemed eminently proper to invite a number of people to hit house, find, from the array of San Francisco maidenhood, to select a daughter-in-jaw. And then there would be a child—a boy, whom he could “ rare up ’’ from the beginning, and —love—as he did not love Charles. We were all at the party. The Smiths, Joneses, Browns and Robinsons also came, in that fine flow of animal spirits, unchecked by any respect for the entertainer, which most of us are apt to find so fascinating. The proceedingswould have been somewhat riotous but for tho social position of the actors. In fact, Mr. Bracy Tibbets, having naturally a fine appreciation of a humorous situation, but further impelled by the bright eyes of the Jones girls, conducted himself so remarkably as to attracttheJseriouSregard ofMr. Charles Thompson, who approached him, saying quietly: "Youloot ill, Mr. Tibbets, Jet me conduct you to vour carriage. Resist, you hound, and I’ll throw you through that window. This way, please; the room is close and distressing.” It is hardly necessary to say that but a part of this speech was audible to the company, and that the rest waS not divulged by Mr. Tibbets, who afterward regretted the sudden illness which kept him from witnessing a very singular incident, which I hasten to record: It was at supper. It was evident that Mr. Thompson had overlooked much lawlessness in the conduct of the younger people, in his abstract contemplation of some impending event. When the cloth was removed he rose to his feet, and grimly tapped upon the table. A titter, that broke out among the Jones girls, bedame epidemic on one side of the board. Charles Thompson, from the foot of the table, looked up in a tender perplexity. “He’s going to sing a doxology “ lie’s going to pray for a speech,” ran round the room. “ It’s one year to-day, Christian brothers and sisters,” said Mr. Thompson, with grim deliberation, “ one year to-day since my son came home from eating of wins husks and from squandering of his substance. Look at him now. Charles Thompson, stand up. (Charles Thompson stood up) “ One year ago to day—and look at him now." He was certainly a handsome prodigal, standing there in his cheerfril evening dress—a repentant prodigal, with sad, obedient eyes turned upon the harsh and unsympathetic glance of his father. The youngest Miss Smith, from the pure depths of her foolish little heart, moved unconscionsly toward him. “ It is fifteen years ago since he left my house,” said Mr. Thompson, *‘a rover and a prodigal, I was myself a uian of sin, O Christian friends—a man of wrath and bitterness—hut, praised bo God, I’ve fled the wrath to come. It’s five years ago since I got the peace that passeth understanding. “And when I found tho error of my ways and the preciousness of grace,” continued Mr. Thompson, “I came to give it to my son. By sea and land I sought him far and fainted not. I did not wait for him to come to me—which tho same I might have done, and Justified myself by the Book of Books—but I sought him out and found hkn among his husks. Works, friends, is my motto. By their works ye shall know them, and there is mine.” The particular and accepted work to which Mr. Thompson was alluding had turned quite pale, and was looking fixedly toward the open door leading to the veranda, lately filled by gaping servants, and now tho scene of somo vague tumult. As the noise continued, a man, shabbily dressed, and evidently in liquor broko through the opposing guardians, and staggered into tho room. The transition from the fog and darkness without to the glaro and heat within evidently dazzled and stupefied him. He removed his battered bat and passed it once or twico before his eyes, as no steadied himself, but unsuccessfully, by the back of a chair. Suddenly his wandering glance fell upon the pale face 'of Charles Thompson; and, with a gleam of child-like recognition, and a weak, falsetto laugh, he darted forward, caught at the table,upset the glasses, and literally fell upon the prodigal’s breast. “ Bha’ly! yo’ d-d ol’ scoun’rel, hoo rar yes

“ Hush! sit down I—hush!” said Charles Thompson, hurriedly endeavoring to extricate himself from the embrace of his unexpected guest. ___ “ Look at’m,” continued tho stranger, unheeding the admonition, but suddenly, holding the unfortunate Charles at arms 1 length, in loving and undisguised admiration ot Us festive appearance. “ Look at m t Ain’t he tasty ? Shal’s, Pm prow ofyerj”

“Leave the house I" said Mr. Thompson, rising, with a dangerous look in his “ Simmer down, ole man I Sha’ls, who’s Ah’ ol’ bloat? Eh? 5 ’ “ Hush, man; here, take this I” With nervous hands, Charles Thompson filled a glass with liquor. “ Drink ft and go—until to-morrow—any time, but—leave us!—go now I” But even then, ere the miserable wretch could drink, the old man, pale With passion, was upon him. Half carrying him in his powerful arms, half dragging him through the circling crowd of frightened guests, he had reached the door swung open by the waiting -servants, when Charles Thompson started from a seeming stupor, saying—- “ Stop!” The old man stopped. -Through the open door the fog and wind drove chilly. “ What does this mean ?” he aßked, turning a baleful face on Charles. “Nothing—but stop, for God’s sake. Wait till to-morrow, but not to-night. Do not—l implore you—do this thing.” There was something in the tone of. the yonng man’s voice—something, perhaps, in the contact of the struggling wretch he held in his powerful arms; but a dim, indefinite fear took possession of the old man’s heart “ Who ?” he - whispered hoarsely, “ is this man ?” Charles did not answer. “ Stand back, there, all of you,” thundered Mr. Thompson to the crowding guests around him. “ Char-les—come heret I command you—l—l—l—beg you —tell me who is this man?”’ Only two persons heard the answer that came fbintly from the lips of Charles Thompson: “ Your sow." When day broke over the black sandhills, the guests had departed from Mr. Thompson’s banquet halls. The lights still burned dimly and coldly in the deserted rooms—deserted by alj but three figures, that huddled together in the* chill drawing-room, as if for warmth. One lay in drunken slumber on a couch; at his feet sat he who had been knqjvn as Charles Thompson; and beside' them, haggard and shrunken to half his size, bowed the figure of Mr. Thompson, his gray eye fixed, his elbows upon his knees, and his hands clasped over ids ears, as if to shut out the sad, entreating voice that filled the room. “ God knows I did not set about to willflilly deceive. The name I gave that night was the first that came into my thought—the name of one whom I thought dead—the dissolute companion of my shame. And when you questioned further, 1 used the knowledge that I gained from him to touch your heart to sot me free—only, I swear, for that! But when you told me who you were, when first I saw the opening of another life before me—then—then—. Oh, sir, I was hungry, homeless and wreckless when I would have robbed you of your gold. I was heart-sick, helpless and desperate when I would have robbed you of your love." The old man stirred not. From his luxurious couch the newly-found prodigal snored peacefully. “ I had no father I could claim. I never knew a home but this. I was tempted. I have been happy—very happy.” He rose and stood before the old man. “ Do not fear that I shall come between your Eon and his inheritance. To-day I leave this plaee, never to return. The world is large, sir, and, thanks to your kindness, I now see the way by which an honest livelihood is gained. Good-by. You will not take my hand? Well, welL Good-by.” He turned to go. But when he had reached the door he suddenly came back, and raising with both hands the grizzled head, he kissed it once and twice. “Char-les!” The old man rose with a frightened air, and tottered feebly to the door. It was open. There came to him the awakened tumult of a great city, in which the prodigal’s, footsteps were lost forever.—Overland Monthly.