Dawn by Eleanor Porter (best finance books of all time TXT) 📕

I know it's a whole lot to ask," she hurried on, asshe saw the dawning dismay and refusal in his face. "But I thought,for the sake of the cause—"

"The cause!" The man's voice was bitter as he interrupted her. "I'dcrawl to France on my hands and knees if that would do any good! But,my dear young lady, I'm an ignoramus, and worse than an ignoramus,when it comes to machinery. I'll venture to wager that I wouldn't knowthe tape from the coils—or whatever they are."

"Oh, we'd have an engineer for that part, of course," interposed thegirl eagerly. "And we want your son, too."

"You want Keith! Pray, do you expect him to teach how to wind coils?"

"No—no—not exactly;—though I think he will be teaching before herealizes it. I want him to learn to wind them himself, and thus getothers to learn. You don't understand, Mr. Burton. I want you and Mr.Keith to—to do just what you did for John McGuire—arouse interestand enthusiasm and get them to do it. Don't you see?"

"But that was Keith, not I, in the case of John McGuire."

"It was you at the last," corrected the girl gently. "Mr. Burton, JohnMcGuire wouldn't have any book out this spring if it weren't for youand—your eyes."

"Hm-m, perhaps not. Still there'd have been a way, probably. But evenif I grant that—all you say in the case of John McGuire—that isn'twinding armatures, or whatever they are."

"Mr. Burton, you aren't going to refuse," pleaded the girl.

"What else can I do? Miss Dorothy, you don't want to stamp thisproject of yours a FAILURE from the start, do you?" Words, voice,manner, and gesture were unmistakable. All the longing and heartacheand bitterness of years of fruitless effort and final disappointmentpulsated through that one word FAILURE.

For a moment nobody spoke. Daniel Burton had got to his feet andcrossed the room to the window. The girl, watching him withcompassionate eyes as he stood looking out, had caught her breath witha little choking sigh. Suddenly she lifted her head resolutely.

"Mr. Burton, you've got one gift that—that I don't believe yourealize at all that you possess. Like John McGuire you can make folksSEE what you are talking about. Perhaps it's because you can paintpictures with a brush. Or—or perhaps it's because you've got such awonderful command of words."(Miss Dorothy stumbled a littleprecipitately into this sentence—she had not failed to see thedisdainful movement of the man's head and shoulders at the mention ofhis pictures.) "Whatever it is," she hurried on, "you've got it. I sawit first years ago, with—with your son, when I used to see him atfather's. He would sit and talk to me by the hour about the woods andfields and mountains, the sunsets and the flowers back home; andlittle by little I found out that they were the pictures you drew forhim—on the canvas of his soul. You've done it again now for JohnMcGuire. Do you suppose you could have caught those wonderful storiesof his with your pencil, if you hadn't been able to help him visualizethem for himself—you and Keith together with your wonderfulenthusiasm and interest?

"I know you couldn't. And that's what I want you now for—you and yourson. Because he is blind, and knows, and understands, as no seeingperson can know and understand, they will trust him; they will followwhere he leads. But behind him has got to be YOU. You've got to be theeyes for—for them all; not to teach the work—we'll have others forthat. Any good mechanic will do for that part. But it's the other partof it—the soul of the thing. These men, lots of them, are but littlemore than boys—big, strong, strapping fellows with the whole of lifebefore them. And they are—blind. Whichever way they turn a big blackcurtain shuts them in. And it's those four black curtains that I wantyou to paint. I want you to give them something to look at, somethingto think of, something to live for. And you can do it. And when youhave done it, you'll find they're the best and—and the biggestpictures you ever painted." Her voice broke with the last word andchoked into silence.

Over at the window the man stood motionless. One minute, two minutespassed. Then a bit abruptly he turned, crossed the room to the girl'sside, and held out his hand.

"Miss Dorothy, I—I'll take the job," he said.

He spoke lightly, and he smiled as he said the words; but neither thesmile nor the lightness of his manner quite hid the shake in his voicenor the moisture in his eyes.

"Thank you, Mr. Burton. I was sure you would," cried the girl.

"And now for Keith! He's over to the McGuires'. I'll get him!"exclaimed the man boyishly.

But Miss Dorothy was instantly on her feet.

"No, no, please," she begged a little breathlessly. "I'd rather youdidn't—now. I—I think we'd better get it a little farther alongbefore we tell him. There's a whole lot to do, you know—getting theroom and the materials and the superintendent, and all that; and thereisn't a thing he can do—yet."

"All right. Very good. Perhaps that would be better," nodded the man.

"But, let me tell you, I already have some workers for your project."

"You mean Jack Green, here in town?"

"No. Oh, we'd want him, of course; but it's some others—a couple ofboys from Hillsboro. I had a letter yesterday from the father of oneof the boys, asking what to do with his son. He thought because of—ofKeith, that I could help him. It was a pitiful letter. The man washeart-broken and utterly at sea. His boy—only nineteen—had come homeblind, and well-nigh crazed with the tragedy of it. And the fatherdidn't know which way to turn. That's why he had appealed to me. Yousee, on account of Keith—"

"Yes, I understand," said the girl gently, as the man left hissentence unfinished.

"I've had others, too—several of them—in the last few weeks. Ifyou'll wait I'll get the letters." He was already halfway to the door."It may take a minute or two to look them up; but—they'll be worthit, I think."

"Of course they will," she cried eagerly. "They'll be just