Guy Hammersley; or, Clearing his Name — page 88: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

GUY HAMMERSLEY. 79 he had never looked upon. In gentlest tones he begged her to be calm, and then, when he had in- duced her to resume her seat, he added : ‘“No; Reginald is not my very own, though I love him as if he were.” ‘Then he’s mine—my lost boy Harold,” broke in Mrs. Hammersley. ‘‘Oh, let me see him—let me have him! Have pity upon a mother bereaved for nine years of her child’s love.” ‘* But think, madam,” rejoined the capitalist, ‘this is no place for a reunion such as that. Besides, Reginald would not understand it. If what you say is true, he must be prepared. Besides, I must have some particulars from you about the case before I can consent to indorse your claim. Ido not mean to be harsh, but you yourself must surely see the justice of such a course.” ‘Yes, yes, I understand. I will tell you how it was. Heis the son by my first marriage. We lived in Chicago. I was summoned suddenly, when he was about a year old, to Joliet, tothe bedside of my dying mother. When the telegram came, Frank, my husband, had taken Harold, with the nurse, off to show him to an old chum of his who was confined to his room. There was no time to wait for them to come back if I wished to catch the express. I left word for them to follow me at once, and started off. I reached my mother’s side in time to hear her say her last words, and the next day read in the papers of a frightful railroad accident.” Here Mrs. Hammersley paused for an instant, till she had mastered the emotions called up by the EOMIIE 000) “S (E(@) m