Doom of the House of Duryea

By EARL PEIRCE, JR.

[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales October1936. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Arthur Duryea, a young, handsome man, came to meet his father for thefirst time in twenty years. As he strode into the hotel lobby—longstrides which had the spring of elastic in them—idle eyes lifted toappraise him, for he was an impressive figure, somehow grim withexaltation.

The desk clerk looked up with his habitual smile of expectation;how-do-you-do-Mr.-so-and-so, and his fingers strayed to the greenfountain pen which stood in a holder on the desk.

Arthur Duryea cleared his throat, but still his voice was clogged andunsteady. To the clerk he said:

"I'm looking for my father, Doctor Henry Duryea. I understand he isregistered here. He has recently arrived from Paris."

The clerk lowered his glance to a list of names. "Doctor Duryea is insuite 600, sixth floor." He looked up, his eyebrows archedquestioningly. "Are you staying too, sir, Mr. Duryea?"

Arthur took the pen and scribbled his name rapidly. Without a furtherword, neglecting even to get his key and own room number, he turned andwalked to the elevators. Not until he reached his father's suite on thesixth floor did he make an audible noise, and this was a mere sigh whichfell from his lips like a prayer.

The man who opened the door was unusually tall, his slender frameclothed in tight-fitting black. He hardly dared to smile. Hisclean-shaven face was pale, an almost livid whiteness against thesparkle in his eyes. His jaw had a bluish luster.

"Arthur!" The word was scarcely a whisper. It seemed choked up quietly,as if it had been repeated time and again on his thin lips.

Arthur Duryea felt the kindliness of those eyes go through him, and thenhe was in his father's embrace.

Later, when these two grown men had regained their outer calm, theyclosed the door and went into the drawing-room. The elder Duryea heldout a humidor of fine cigars, and his hand shook so hard when he heldthe match that his son was forced to cup his own hands about the flame.They both had tears in their eyes, but their eyes were smiling.

Henry Duryea placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "This is the happiestday of my life," he said. "You can never know how much I have longed forthis moment."

Arthur, looking into that glance, realized, with growing pride, that hehad loved his father all his life, despite any of those things which hadbeen cursed against him. He sat down on the edge of a chair.

"I—I don't know how to act," he confessed. "You surprize me, Dad.You're so different from what I had expected."

A cloud came over Doctor Duryea's features. "What did you expect,Arthur?" he demanded quickly. "An evil eye? A shaven head and knottedjowls?"

"Please, Dad—no!" Arthur's words clipped short. "I don't think I everreally visualized you. I knew you would be a splendid man. But I thoughtyou'd look older, more like a man who has really suffered."

"I have suffered, more than I can ever describe. But seeing you again,and the prospect of spending the rest of my life with you, has more thancompensated for my sorrows. Even during the twenty years we were apart Ifound an ironic joy in learning of your progress in college, and in yourAmerican game of football."

"Then you've been following my work?"...