Between the end of the college year and the departure on the journey
westward there was to be an interval of three weeks. Mrs. Ansley had
insisted on that. She was a mother. For eight or nine months she had
seen almost nothing of her boy. Now if he was to be taken from her for
the summer, and for another college year after that, she might as well
not have a son at all.
Tom was considering where he should pass the intervening time when the
following note unnerved him.
_Dear Mr. Whitelaw_
Mother wants to know if when college closes, and Guy joins us in New
Hampshire, you will not come with him for the three weeks before you
start on your trip. Please do. I shall have got there by that time,
and I haven't seen you now for nearly two years. We must have a lot of
notes to compare, and ought to be busy comparing them. Do come then,
for our sakes if not for your own. You will give us a great deal of
pleasure.
Yours very sincerely,
Hildred Ansley.
His heart failed him. It failed him because of the details as to
customs, etiquette, and dress he didn't know anything about. He should
be called on to speak fluently in a language of which he was only
beginning to spell out the little words. It seemed to him at first that
he couldn't accept the invitation.
Then, not to accept it began to look like cowardice. He would never
get anywhere if he funked what he didn't know. When you didn't know
you went to work and found out. You couldn't find out unless you put
yourself in the way of seeing what other people did. After twenty-four
hours of reflection he penned the simplest form of note. Thanking
Hildred for her mother's kind invitation, he accepted it. Before
putting his letter in the post, however, he dropped in to call on Guy.
Guy, who was strumming the Love-Death of Isolde, tossed his comments
over his shoulder as he thumped out the passion.
"That's Hildred. She's made mother do it. Nutty on that sort of thing."