The Prodigal Girl Read Free

those boastful voices were speaking further of his Betty, setting forth her personal charms with a frankness that was more than revolting, comparing her exquisite intimate loveliness to that of some other girl whom they called Judy! Why did he not reach forward now and grip that boy by the throat? Call the conductor and have him arrested! What was it that held him this way from making a single move?
    Was it? Could it be that he was afraid lest Betty? No! But had Betty been indiscreet? Could she have allowed intimacies without realizing, meaning to? Innocently of course. Oh, no—impossible!
    His Betty! But yes, that must be what held him back!
    He thought of her exquisite rose-leaf body as a baby lying softly in the white blanket when he and Eleanor had looked at her alone together for the first time, almost to worship her, so fresh and sweet she was from God, like a bud dropped down to earth from heaven. It had seemed a sanctuary just to stand and look at her. Her father’s heart had turned to God more closely at that moment than ever before, when he realized that God had trusted him with such a flower of perfect life to love and guide. It had made him feel that he must somehow purify his own life to be worthy of so great a trust. And through the years when she had been growing up he had always felt this more or less whenever he looked at her glowing beauty. He felt almost like worshipping her, giving her reverence for her exquisite purity and beauty.
    And now, these swine dared to joke about her charms as if—He paused and stared about him as the train came to an abrupt halt at his home station, and passengers arose all about him swarming out.
    He let his paper fall from his numb fingers and tried to stand upon his feet. The two youths in front of him were noisily dragging one another up, laughing irresponsibly. The one who had spoken those first terrible words caught the falling newspaper and returned it to Thornton’s nerveless hand. The father lifted his stricken eyes and recognized the youth as the son of a neighbor, a classmate of Betty’s in high school. Thornton’s face was ashen, but the boy was not looking at him. He was still employed in a whispered line of jokes with his companion, his eyes following a girl who had just come down the aisle. The little swine! He had not even known that the father of Betty had heard what he had said! Would he have cared if he had noticed?
    The stricken father stood there dazed, filled with loathing of life, trying to think what he should do. He seemed to lack the power to move out of the car. Yet he knew that when all the others were out he must get out quickly and go after those boys and—What should he do? What could he do that he would not have to explain and thus bring his Betty into disgrace! Oh, he understood now why men sometimes became murderers!
    But when he had gone out to the platform and the train had passed on its way, he seemed dazed by the dark. He tried to look around for those boys, but they were gone. Before long everyone else was gone, too, and he was left standing alone on that platform with the rows of lights and the sound of the station agent slamming the late baggage into the baggage room, getting ready for the next train down to the city.
    He dragged his heavy feet across the track. He had the feeling his heart was a great burden that he had to carry home and that his feet were too frail for the task. His head, too, bothered him. He could not think. He could only hear those awful words about his Betty beat over and over in his brain, and he could not decide what to do. Should he go to Dudley Weston’s house, ask for Mr. Weston senior, and demand—What should he demand? What was adequate for a young girl’s name and intimate sweetness defamed even in thought?
    He knew of course that there were stories being told about the frankness of youth, the lengths to which they would go, the orgies, the debaucheries—But these were not young people like his