THE PASSING OF ANDREW KELTON
Andrew Kelton died suddenly, near the end of May, in Sylvia's senior
year at college. The end came unexpectedly, of heart trouble. Harwood
read of it in the morning newspaper, and soon after he reached his
office Mrs. Owen called him on the telephone to say that she was going
to Montgomery at once, and asking him to meet Sylvia as she passed
through Indianapolis on her way home. Both of the morning papers printed
laudatory articles on Kelton; he had been held in high esteem by all the
friends of Madison College, and his name was known to educators
throughout the country.
On the same afternoon Bassett appeared in town on the heels of a letter
saying that Dan need not expect him until the following week.
"Thought I'd better see Fitch about some receiver business, so I came
down a little ahead of time. What's new?"
"Nothing very exciting. There's a good deal of political buzz, but I
don't believe anything has happened that you don't know. From the way
candidates are turning up for state office our fellows must think they
have a chance of winning."
Bassett was unfailingly punctilious in forecasting his appearances in
town, and his explanation that legal matters had brought him down was
not wholly illuminative. Dan knew that the paper-mill receivership was
following its prescribed course, and he was himself, through an
arrangement made by Bassett, in touch with Fitch and understood the
legal status of the case perfectly. As Bassett passed through the
library to his own room he paused to indulge in a moment's banter with
Miss Farrell. It was not until he had opened his desk that he replied to
Harwood's remark.
"A few good men on our ticket might pull through next time, but it will
take us a little longer to get the party whipped into shape again and
strong enough to pull a ticket through. But hope springs eternal. You
have noticed that I don't talk on national affairs when the reporters
come to me. In the state committee I tell them to put all the snap they
can into the county organizations, and try to get good men on local
tickets. When the boys out West get tired of being licked we will start
in again and do business at the old stand. I've always taken care that
they shouldn't have a chance to attack my regularity."
"I've just been reading a book of Cleveland's speeches," remarked Dan.
"Solemn, but sound. He will undoubtedly go down as one of the great
Presidents. I think Republicans and men of all sorts of political ideas
will come to that."
"But I don't feel that all this radicalism is a passing phase. It's
eating deeply into the Republicans too. We're on the eve of a revival of
patriotism, and party names don't mean what they did. But I believe the
Democratic Party is still the best hope of the people, even when the
people go clean off their heads."
"You believe in Democracy, but you doubt sometimes whether the
Democratic Party is really the custodian of the true faith of
Democracy--is that it?"
"That's exactly it. And my young Republican friends feel the same way
about their party."
"Well, I guess I stand about where you do. I believe in parties. I don't
think there's much gained by jumping around from one party to another;
and independent movements are as likely to do harm as good. I don't mind
confessing to you that I had a good notion to join the Democratic schism
in '96, and support Palmer and Buckner. But I didn't, and I'm not sorry
I kept regular and held on. I believed the silver business would pass
over; and it's out of sight. They charged me with voting the Republican
ticket in '96; but that's a lie. I've never scratched a ticket since I
first voted, and"--Bassett smiled his grim smile--"I've naturally voted
for a good many rascals. By the way, how much are you seeing of Atwill?"
"I make a point of seeing him once a week or oftener. When I'm downtown
at night I usually catch him for a late supper."
"The 'Courier' is regular, all right enough. It's a good property, and
when our party gets through chasing meadow-larks and gets down to
business again it will be more valuable. Was that your editorial
yesterday on municipal government? Good. I'm for trying some of these
new ideas. I've been reading a lot of stuff on municipal government
abroad, and some of those foreign ideas we ought to try here. I want the
'Courier' to take the lead in those things; it may help"--and Bassett
smiled--"it may help to make the high brows see that ours has really
been the party of progress through these years when it's marched
backward."
Bassett swung round slowly until his gaze fell upon the map, reminding
the young man of Thatcher's interest in that varicolored oblong of
paper. Dan had never mentioned Thatcher's visit to the office, feeling
that if the capitalist were really the bold man he appeared to be, he
would show his hand to Bassett soon enough. Moreover, Harwood's
confidence in Bassett's powers had never wavered; in the management of
the paper-mill receivership the senator from Fraser had demonstrated a
sagacity and resourcefulness that had impressed Dan anew. Bassett
possessed, in unusual degree, the astuteness and executive force of the
successful American business man, and his nice feeling for the things
that interest cultivated people lifted him far above the common type of
political boss. Dan had yet to see a demonstration of Bassett's
political venality; the bank and his other interests at Fraserville were
profitable. It must be a craving for power, not money, Dan reasoned,
that led Bassett into politics. Bassett turned to his desk with some
letters he had taken from his pocket. It occurred to Dan that as Mrs.
Owen had suggested that he accompany Sylvia to Montgomery, it would be
well to mention the possibility of his leaving town for a day.
"Mrs. Owen telephoned me this morning of Professor Kelton's death. You
probably read of it in to-day's papers. Mrs. Owen is an old friend of
his, and went to Montgomery on the noon train. She asked me to meet the
Professor's granddaughter, Miss Garrison, when she comes through here in
the morning on her way home. I know her slightly, and I think I'd better
go over to Montgomery with her, if you don't mind."
"Yes, certainly; I was sorry to read of Kelton's death. Mrs. Owen will
feel it deeply. It's a blow to these old people when one of them drops
out of the ranks. I'm glad the 'Courier' printed that capital sketch of
him; much better than the 'Advertiser's.' While I think of it, I wish
you would tell Atwill that I like the idea of saying a word editorially
for these old citizens as they leave us. It gives the paper tone, and I
like to show appreciation of fine characters like Kelton."
Bassett had turned round with a letter in his hand. He unfolded it
slowly and went on, scanning it as he talked.
"I'm sorry I never knew Kelton. They say he was a very able
mathematician and astronomer. It's rather remarkable that we should have
kept him in Indiana. I suppose you may have seen him at Mrs. Owen's;
they had a common tie in their Kentucky connections. I guess there's no
tie quite like the Kentucky tie, unless it's the Virginian."
He seemed absorbed in the letter--one of a number he had taken from his
bag; then he glanced up as though waiting for Dan's reply.
"No, I never saw him at Mrs. Owen's; but I did meet him once, in
Montgomery. He was a fine old gentleman. You would hardly imagine him
ever to have been a naval officer; he was quite the elderly, spectacled
professor in his bearing and manner."
"I suppose even a man bred to the sea loses the look of a sailor if he
lives inland long enough," Bassett observed.
"I think my brief interview with him rather indicated that he had been a
man of action--the old discipline of the ship may have been in that,"
remarked Harwood. Then, fearing that he might be laying himself open to
questions that he should have to avoid answering, he said: "Kelton wrote
a good deal on astronomical subjects, and his textbooks have been
popular. Sylvia Garrison, the granddaughter, is something of a wonder
herself."
"Bright girl, is she?"
"Quite so; and very nice to look at. I met her on the train when I went
to Boston with those bonds in January. She was going back to college
after the holidays. She's very interesting--quite different."
"Different?" repeated Bassett vaguely, dropping back in his chair, but
again referring absently to the letter.
"Yes," Dan smiled. "She has a lot of individuality. She's a serious
young person; very practical-minded, I should say. They tell me she
walks through mathematics like a young duchess through the minuet. Some
other Wellesley girls were on the train and they did not scruple to
attribute miraculous powers to her; a good sign, other girls liking her
so much. They were very frank in their admiration."
"Mrs. Owen had her at Waupegan several years ago, and my wife and Marian
met her there. Mrs. Bassett was greatly impressed by her fine mind. It
seems to me I saw her, too, that summer; but of course she's grown up
since then."
He glanced at Harwood as though for confirmation of these details, but
Dan's thoughts were elsewhere. He was thinking of Sylvia speeding
homeward, and of the little cottage beside the campus. His subsequent
meetings with Sylvia had caused a requickening of all the impressions of
his visit to Professor Kelton, and he had been recalling that errand
again to-day. The old gentleman had given his answer with decision;
Harwood recalled the crisp biting-off of the negative, and the Professor
had lifted his head slightly as he spoke the word. Dan remembered the
peace of the cottage, the sweet scents of June blowing through the open
windows; and he remembered Sylvia as she had opened the door, and their
colloquy later, on the campus.
"You'd better go to Montgomery with Miss Garrison and report to Mrs.
Owen for any service you may render her. Does the old gentleman's death
leave the girl alone?"
"Quite so, I think. She had lived with him nearly all her life. The
papers mentioned no other near relatives."
"I'll be in town a day or two. You do what you can over there for Mrs.
Owen."
That evening, returning to the office to clear off his desk in
preparation for his absence the next day, Dan found Bassett there. This
was unusual; Bassett rarely visited the office at night. He had
evidently been deeply occupied with his thoughts, for when Dan entered
he was sitting before his closed desk with his hat on. He nodded, and a
few moments later passed through the library on his way out.
"Suppose I won't see you to-morrow. Well, I'm going to be in town a few
days. Take your time."
* * * * *
Dan Harwood never doubted that he loved Sally Owen after that dark day
of Sylvia's home-coming. From the time Sylvia stepped from the train
till the moment when, late that same afternoon, just as the shadows were
gathering, Andrew Kelton was buried with academic and military honors
befitting his two-fold achievements, Mrs. Owen had shown the tenderness
of the gentlest of mothers to the forlorn girl. The scene at the grave
sank deep into Dan's memory--the patriarchal figure of Dr. Wandless,
with the faculty and undergraduates ranged behind him; the old
minister's voice lifted in a benediction that thrilled with a note of
triumphant faith; and the hymn sung by the students at the end, boys'
voices, sweet and clear, floating off into the sunset. And nothing in
Dan's life had ever moved him so much as when Mrs. Owen, standing beside
Sylvia and representing in her gaunt figure the whole world of love and
kindness, bent down at the very end and kissed the sobbing girl and led
her away.
Harwood called on Mrs. Owen at the cottage in Buckeye Lane that
evening. She came down from Sylvia's room and met him in the little
library, which he found unchanged from the day of his visit five years
before.
"That little girl is a hero," she began. "I guess she's about the
lonesomest girl in the world to-night. Andrew Kelton was a man and a
good one. He hadn't been well for years, the doctor tells me; trouble
with his heart, but he kept it to himself; didn't want to worry the
girl. I tell you everything helps at a time like this. Admiral Martin
came over to represent the Navy, and you saw the G.A.R. there; it caught
me in the throat when the bugle blew good-night for Andrew. Sylvia will
rally and go on and do some big thing. It's in her. I reckon she'll have
to go back to college, this being her last year. Too bad the
commencement's all spoiled for her."
"Yes; she won't have much heart for it; but she must get her degree."
"She'll need a rest after this. I'll go back with her, and then I'm
going to take her up to Waupegan with me for the summer. There are some
things to settle about her, and I'm glad you stayed. Andrew owned this
house, but I shouldn't think Sylvia would want to keep it: houses in a
town like this are a nuisance if you don't live where you can watch the
tenants," she went on, her practical mind asserting itself.
"I suppose--" Dan began and then hesitated. It gave him a curious
feeling to be talking of Sylvia's affairs in this way.
"Go on, Daniel,"--this marked a departure; she had never called him by
his first name before. "I'm closer to that girl than anybody, and I'm
glad to talk to you about her affairs."
"I suppose there will be something for her; she's not thrown on her own
resources?"
"I guess he didn't make any will, but what he left is Sylvia's. He had a
brother in Los Angeles, who died ten years ago. He was a rich man, and
left a big fortune to his children. If there's no will there'll have to
be an administrator. Sylvia's of age and she won't need a guardian."
Dan nodded. He knew Mrs. Owen well enough by this time to understand
that she usually perfected her plans before speaking, and that she
doubtless had decided exactly how Andrew Kelton's estate should be
administered.
"I'm going to ask the court to appoint you administrator, Daniel. You
ever acted? Well, you might as well have the experience. I might take it
myself, but I'm pretty busy and there'll be some running back and forth
to do. You come back in a day or two and we'll see how things stand by
that time. As soon as Sylvia gets rested she'll go back to college to
finish up, and then come to me for the summer."
"She might not like my having anything to do with her affairs," Dan
suggested. "I shouldn't want to seem to be intruding."
"Oh, Sylvia likes you well enough. The main thing is getting somebody
that you've got confidence in. I know some people here, and I guess the
court will do about what we want."
"I should have to come over here frequently until everything was
settled," Dan added, thinking of his duties in the city. "I suppose if
you find it possible for me to serve that I shall have to get Mr.
Bassett's consent; he pays for my time, you know."
"That's right, you ask him; but be sure to tell him that I want it to be
that way. Morton won't make any fuss about it. I guess you do enough
work for him. What's he paying you, Daniel?"
"Eighteen hundred since he got the paper-mill receivership."
She made no comment, but received the intelligence in silence. He knew
from the characteristic quick movement of her eyelids that she was
pondering the equity of this carefully; and his loyalty to Bassett
asserting itself, he added, defensively:--
"It's more than I could begin to make any other way; and he's really
generous about my time--he's made it plain that he wants me to keep up
my reading."
"They don't read much after they're admitted, do they? I thought when
you got admitted you knew it all."
"Not if you mean to be a real lawyer," said Dan, smiling.
"Well, I guess you had better go now. I don't want to leave Sylvia alone
up there, poor little girl. I'll let you know when to come back."