I
Bruce returned late one afternoon in August from a neighboring town
where Freeman had some houses under construction, found the office
deserted, and was looking over the accumulation of papers on his desk
when a messenger delivered a telegram.
He signed for it and let it lie while he filled his pipe. The
potentialities of an unopened telegram are enormous. This message,
Bruce reflected, might be from one of Freeman’s clients with whom he
had been dealing directly; or it might be from a Tech classmate who had
written a week earlier that he would be motoring through town and would
wire definitely the hour of his arrival. Or it might be the verdict of
the jury of architects who were to pass on the plans for the Laconia
memorial--an honorable mention at best. The decision had been delayed
and he had been trying to forget about it. He turned the envelope
over--assured himself that it didn’t matter greatly whether he received
the award or not; then, unable to prolong the agony, he tore it open
and read:
It affords the committee great pleasure to inform you that your plans
submitted for the Laconia memorial have been accepted. You may
regard our delay in reaching the decision as complimentary, for the
high merit of some half dozen of the plans proposed made it extremely
difficult to reach a conclusion. We suggest that you visit Laconia as
soon as possible to make the acquaintance of the citizens’ committee
with whom you will now take up the matter of construction. With our
warm cordial congratulations and all good wishes....
He flung his pipe on the floor with a bang, snatched the telephone and
called Freeman’s house. Dale answered, gave a chirrup of delight and
ran to carry the news to Bill on the tennis court. Bruce decided that
Henderson should know next, and had called the number when Bud strolled
into the room.
“Looking for me--most remarkable! I was on this floor looking for
a poor nut who needs a little stimulus as to the merits of the
world-famous Plantag!”
“Fool!” shouted Bruce, glaring at him. “Don’t speak to me of
Plantagenets. Read that telegram; read it and fall upon your knees!
I’ve won a prize, I tell you! You called me a chicken-coop builder,
did you? You said I’d better settle down to building low-priced
bungalows---- Oh, yes, you did!”
He was a boy again, lording it over his chum. He danced about, tapping
Bud on the head and shoulders as if teasing him for a fight. Bud
finally managed to read the message Bruce had thrust into his hands,
and emitted a yell. They fell to pummeling each other joyfully until
Bud sank exhausted into a chair.
“Great Jupiter!” Bud panted. “So this is what you were up to all
spring! We’ll have a celebration! My dear boy, don’t bother about
anything--I’ll arrange it all!”
He busied himself at the telephone while Bruce received a newspaper
reporter who had been sent to interview him. A bunch of telegrams
arrived from Laconia--salutations of old friends, a congratulatory
message from the memorial committee asking when they might expect him.
The members of the committee were all men and women he had known from
childhood, and his heart grew big at the pride they showed in him. In
the reception room he had difficulty in composing himself sufficiently
to answer the reporter’s questions with the composure the occasion
demanded....
“Small and select--that’s my idea!” said Bud in revealing his plans for
the celebration. “We’re going to pull it at Shep Mills’s--Shep won’t
listen to anything else! And the Freemans will be there, and Millie,
and Helen Torrence, and Maybelle’s beating it from the country club to
be sure she doesn’t miss anything. Thank God! something’s happened to
give me an excuse for acquiring a large, juicy bun.”
“Oh, thunder! You’re going to make an ass of me! I don’t want any
party!”
“No false modesty! We’re all set. I’ll skip around to the Club and
nail Carroll and Whitford and any of the boys who are there. I’ll bet
your plans are rotten, but we’ll pretend they’re mar-ve-li-ous! You’ll
probably bluff your way through life just on your figure!”
“But there’s no reason why the Shep Millses should be burdened with
your show! Why didn’t you ask me about that?”
“Oh, their house is bigger than mine. And Shep stammered his head off
demanding that he have the honor. Don’t worry, old hoss, you’re in the
hands of your friends!”
The party overflowed from the house into the grounds, Bud having
invited everyone he thought likely to contribute to its gaiety. Many
did not know just what it was all about, or thought it was one of Bud’s
jokes. He had summoned a jazz band and cleared the living-room for
dancing.
“Bud was unusually crazy when he telephoned me,” said Millicent. “I
don’t quite know what you’ve done, but it must be a world-shaking
event.”
“All of that! The good wishes you sent after the mail train on a
certain night did the business. I’d have told you of my adventure, only
I was afraid I’d draw a blank.”
“I see. You thought of me as only a fair-weather friend. Square
yourself by telling me everything.”
Their quiet corner of the veranda was soon invaded. Carroll, Whitford,
Connie and Mrs. Torrence joined them, declaring that Millicent couldn’t
be allowed to monopolize the hero of the hour.
“It’s only beginner’s luck; that’s all,” Bruce protested. “The
pleasantest thing about it is that it’s my native burg; that does
tickle me!”
“It’s altogether splendid,” said Carroll. “Having seen you on your
native heath, and knowing how the people over there feel about you, I
know just how proud you ought to be.”
“What’s the name of the place--Petronia?” asked Constance.
“Laconia,” Carroll corrected her. “You will do well to fix it in your
memory now that Bruce is making it famous. I might mention that I have
some cousins there--Bruce went over with me not so long ago just to
give me a good character.”
“How very interesting,” Constance murmured.
“Mr. Mills once lived for a time in Laconia,” Carroll remarked. “That
was years ago. His father had acquired some business interests there
and the place aspired to become a large city.”
“I don’t believe I ever heard Mr. Mills speak of it; I thought he was
always rooted here,” said Constance.
The party broke up at midnight, and Bruce drove Millicent home through
the clear summer night. When he had unlocked the door for her she
followed him out upon the steps.
“I’m afraid I haven’t said all I’d like to say about your success. It’s
a big achievement. I want you to know that I realize all that. I’m
glad--and proud. Many happy returns of the day!”
She gave him both her hands and this more than her words crowned the
day for him. He had never been so happy. He really had hold of life;
he could do things, he could do much finer things than the Laconia
memorial! On his way to the gate he saw beyond the hedge a shadowy
figure moving across the Mills lawn. When he reached the street he
glanced back, identified Mills, and on an impulse entered the grounds.
Mills was pacing back and forth, his head bowed, his hands thrust into
his pockets. He started when he discerned Bruce, who walked up to him
quickly.
“Oh--that you, Storrs? Glad to see you! It’s a sultry night and I’m
staying out as long as possible.”
“I stopped to tell you a little piece of news. The Laconia memorial
jury has made its report; my plans are accepted.”
“How fine! Why--I’m delighted to hear this. I hope everything’s as you
wanted it.”
“Yes, sir; the fund was increased and the thing can be done now without
skimping. I put in the fountain--I’m greatly obliged to you for that
suggestion. You ought to have the credit for it.”
“Oh, no, no!” Mills exclaimed hastily. “You’d probably have thought of
it yourself--merely a bit of supplementary decoration. You’ll be busy
now--supervising the construction?”
“Yes; I want to look after all the details. It will keep me busy for
the next year. Carroll is going over to Laconia with me tomorrow.”
“Good! It will be quite an event--going back to your old home to
receive the laurel! I hope your work will stand for centuries!”
“Thank you, sir; good-night.”