The day seemed very long. He ate his luncheon, having first paid a visit
to Ann, who gave him an effusive welcome. Jeffrey waited, and during the
meal they had some further talk, and among other things John said to
him, "Does my father dress for dinner nowadays?"
"No, sir," was the reply, "I don't know when I've seen your father in
his evenin' clothes, sir. Not for a long time, and then maybe two or
three times the past year when he was going out to dinner, but not here,
sir. Maybe it'll be different now you're back again, sir."
After luncheon John's luggage arrived, and he superintended the
unpacking, but that employment was comparatively brief. The day dragged
with him. Truly his home-coming was rather a dreary affair. How
different had been yesterday, and the day before, and all those days
before when he had so enjoyed the ship life, and most of all the daily
hour or more of the companionship which had grown to be of such
surpassing interest to him, and now seemed so utterly a thing of the
past.
Of course, he should see her again. (He put aside a wonder if it would
be within the proprieties on that evening or, at latest, the next.) But,
in any case, "the episode," as he had said to her, was done, and it had
been very pleasant--oh, yes, very dear to him. He wondered if she was
finding the day as interminable as it seemed to him, and if the interval
before they saw each other again would seem as long as his impatience
would make it for him. Finally, the restless dullness became
intolerable. He sallied forth into the weather and went to his club,
having been on non-resident footing during his absence, and, finding
some men whom he knew, spent there the rest of the afternoon.
His father was at home and in his room when John got back.
"Well, father," he said, "the prodigal has returned."
"He is very welcome," was the reply, as the elder man took both his
son's hands and looked at him affectionately. "You seem very well."
"Yes," said John; "and how are you, sir?"
"About as usual, I think," said Mr. Lenox.
They looked at each other for a moment in silence. John thought that his
father seemed thinner than formerly, and he had instantly observed that
a white beard covered the always hitherto smooth-shaven chin, but he
made no comment.
"The old place appears very familiar," he remarked. "Nothing is changed
or even moved, as I can see, and Ann and Jeff are just the same old
sixpences as ever."
"Yes," said his father, "two years make less difference with old people
and their old habits than with young ones. You will have changed more
than we have, I fancy."
"Do we dress for dinner?" asked John, after some little more unimportant
talk.
"Yes," said his father, "in honor of the occasion, if you like. I
haven't done it lately," he added, a little wearily.
* * * * *
"I haven't had such a glass of wine since I left home," John remarked as
they sat together after dinner.
"No," said his father, looking thoughtfully at his glass, "it's the old
'Mouton,' and pretty nearly the last of it; it's very old and wants
drinking," he observed as he held his glass up to get the color. "It has
gone off a bit even in two years."
"All right," said John cheerfully, "we'll drink it to save it, if needs
be." The elder man smiled and filled both glasses.
There had been more or less talk during the meal, but nothing of special
moment. John sat back in his chair, absently twirling the stem of his
glass between thumb and fingers. Presently he said, looking straight
before him at the table: "I have been thinking a good deal of late--more
than ever before, positively, in fact--that whatever my prospects may
be," (he did not see the momentary contraction of his father's brow) "I
ought to begin some sort of a career in earnest. I'm afraid," he
continued, "that I have been rather unmindful, and that I might have
been of some use to you as well as myself if I had stayed at home
instead of spending the last two years in Europe."
"I trust," said his father, "that they have not been entirely without
profit."
"No," said John, "perhaps not wholly, but their cash value would not be
large, I'm afraid."
"All value is not to be measured in dollars and cents," remarked Mr.
Lenox. "If I could have acquired as much German and French as I presume
you have, to say nothing of other things, I should look back upon the
time as well spent at almost any cost. At your age a year or two more or
less--you don't realize it now, but you will if you come to my
age--doesn't count for so very much, and you are not too old," he
smiled, "to begin at a beginning."
"I want to begin," said John.
"Yes," said his father, "I want to have you, and I have had the matter a
good deal in my mind. Have you any idea as to what you wish to do?"
"I thought," said John, "that the most obvious thing would be to go into
your office." Mr. Lenox reached over for the cigar-lamp. His cigar had
gone out, and his hand shook as he applied the flame to it. He did not
reply for a moment.
"I understand," he said at last. "It would seem the obvious thing to do,
as you say, but," he clicked his teeth together doubtfully, "I don't see
how it can be managed at present, and I don't think it is what I should
desire for you in any case. The fact is," he went on, "my business has
always been a sort of specialty, and, though it is still worth doing
perhaps, it is not what it used to be. Conditions and methods have
changed--and," he added, "I am too old to change with them."
"I am not," said John.
"In fact," resumed his father, ignoring John's assertion, "as things are
going now, I couldn't make a place for you in my office unless I
displaced Melig and made you my manager, and for many reasons I couldn't
do that. I am too dependent on Melig. Of course, if you came with me it
would be as a partner, but--"
"No," said John, "I should be a poor substitute for old Melig for a good
while, I fancy."
"My idea would be," said Mr. Lenox, "that you should undertake a
profession--say the law. It is a fact that the great majority of men
fail in business, and then most of them, for lack of training or special
aptitude, fall into the ranks of clerks and subordinates. On the other
hand, a man who has a profession--law, medicine, what not--even if he
does not attain high rank, has something on which he can generally get
along, at least after a fashion, and he has the standing. That is my
view of the matter, and though I confess I often wonder at it in
individual cases, it is my advice to you."
"It would take three or four years to put me where I could earn anything
to speak of," said John, "even providing that I could get any business
at the end of the time."
"Yes," said his father, "but the time of itself isn't of so much
consequence. You would be living at home, and would have your
allowance--perhaps," he suggested, "somewhat diminished, seeing that you
would be here--"
"I can get on with half of it," said John confidently.
"We will settle that matter afterward," said Mr. Lenox.
They sat in silence for some minutes, John staring thoughtfully at the
table, unconscious of the occasional scrutiny of his father's glance. At
last he said, "Well, sir, I will do anything that you advise."
"Have you anything to urge against it?" asked Mr. Lenox.
"Not exactly on my own account," replied John, "though I admit that the
three years or more seems a long time to me, but I have been drawing on
you exclusively all my life, except for the little money I earned in
Rush & Company's office, and--"
"You have done so, my dear boy," said his father gently, "with my
acquiescence. I may have been wrong, but that is a fact. If in my
judgment the arrangement may be continued for a while longer, and in the
mean time you are making progress toward a definite end, I think you
need have no misgivings. It gratifies me to have you feel as you do,
though it is no more than I should have expected of you, for you have
never caused me any serious anxiety or disappointment, my son."
Often in the after time did John thank God for that assurance.
"Thank you, sir," he said, putting down his hand, palm upward, on the
table, and his eyes filled as the elder man laid his hand in his, and
they gave each other a lingering pressure.
Mr. Lenox divided the last of the wine in the bottle between the two
glasses, and they drank it in silence, as if in pledge.
"I will go in to see Carey & Carey in the morning, and if they are
agreeable you can see them afterward," said Mr. Lenox. "They are not one
of the great firms, but they have a large and good practice, and they
are friends of mine. Shall I do so?" he asked, looking at his son.
"If you will be so kind," John replied, returning his look. And so the
matter was concluded.