A RICH MAN'S SON
Gordon had doubts of finding Morris Brent at home when, shortly after
nine o'clock the next morning, he walked up the neat artificial-stone
path to the front door of Brentwood. But the maid who responded to his
ring assured him that Master Morris was in, and led the way to the
gray-and-gold reception room. He decided to take no chances with the
spindle-legged, silk-brocaded chairs, and took refuge in front of the
mantel, from which place he viewed the gray satin wall panels and dainty
luxuries of the apartment with surprise. He didn't have to wait long,
however, for he had only just reached the conclusion that the room was
pretty but uncomfortable when footsteps sounded quickly in the hall and
a boy a year older than he appeared in the doorway.
"Hello, Gordon! How are you? Say, what did they put you in here for?
This room gives me the creeps, doesn't it you? Come on out on the
piazza."
Gordon followed his host across the hall, through a warm-toned,
luxurious but decidedly comfortable library and out of a French door
onto a wide porch that was screened and curtained. There were many
bright rugs and gayly cushioned easy-chairs here; and tables with
blossoming plants and books and magazines on them. From the porch one
looked across a carefully kept lawn to where a symmetrically clipped
hedge bordered Louise Street. Mr. Brent owned not only the block on
which his estate was located, but some eight or nine adjoining blocks
besides, his property running from his back line across Troutman,
Lafayette, Main, and Common Streets to the river, including, two blocks
north, the plot of land which for many years the High School had used as
an athletic field. Mr. Brent had laid out the section himself and had
named the two cross streets after his son and daughter, Morris and
Louise.
Morris was a good-looking youth, with a self-confident air and a
somewhat dissatisfied expression. He was tall, carried himself well,
dressed rather more expensively than his companions in high school, and
was never quite able to forget or allow others to forget that he was
Jonathan Brent's son and heir. But, in spite of that, he was not
unpopular, and if there was any snobbishness about him it was
unconscious. In fact, there were one or two of his acquaintances in
Clearfield to whom he went out of his way to ingratiate himself. Gordon
was one and Dick was another. But Gordon had never cared to respond more
than half-heartedly to Morris' advances, while Dick's attitude we
already know.
Morris pulled forward the most comfortable chair for his guest, repeated
that he was glad to see him, and for several minutes gave Gordon no
chance to state his errand. When he did, however, Morris was as much
surprised as Dick had been.
"Dad hasn't mentioned it to me," he said, with a frown. "That's too bad,
isn't it? I don't see why he needs to cut up that land just now. What'll
we do, Gordon, for a place to play?"
"Dick said he supposed we'd have to go across the river. That would make
it pretty far from school, though. But I don't know of any place in
town, do you?"
Morris shook his head, and Gordon went on:
"What I wanted to see you about was to ask if you thought your father
would have any objection to our using the field until they began to
build on it. I don't think they've done anything there yet. I thought
maybe you wouldn't mind asking your father, Morris."
Morris hesitated a moment. "I'll ask him," he said, at last, "but he and
I--well, we aren't on very good terms just now. Honestly, I think it
would be better if you asked him yourself, Gordon. I'm afraid he'd say
no to me just to--to be nasty. You see, we had a sort of row about an
automobile. He kind of promised last Christmas that he'd get me a
runabout this Spring, and when I asked about it he put me off; and so
I"--Morris grinned--"I went ahead and got Stacey to order one for me. It
came yesterday, and I told dad and he got as mad as a hatter about it.
Says I can't have it now. I'm going to, though. I've got some money in
the bank, and Stacey says he'll wait for the rest of it. It's only six
hundred dollars, anyway."
"Too bad!" murmured Gordon, not very enthusiastically. "Maybe he will
change his mind, though."
"Not he! He isn't made that way. What are you going to do at the field?
Play ball?"
Gordon told about the letter from Caspar Billings and the formation of
the ball club. "I suppose," he ended, "you'll play with the Point
fellows?"
Morris shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose so. I haven't heard anything
about it yet. Caspar's a friend of mine, though. We don't move out to
the Point until the seventeenth this summer. Dad's full of business and
as grouchy as the dickens. Sis and I have been trying to get mother to
spunk up and insist on moving right away, but she won't. Who's on your
team, Gordon?"
Gordon told him. Morris criticised several of his selections and was
infinitely amused at the idea of Fudge Shaw playing. Gordon had an
uneasy feeling that Morris perhaps resented not being asked to join. But
if Morris held any resentment, he didn't show it.
"We ought to have some good games," he said finally and approvingly. "I
dare say Caspar will want me to play on his team. You know him, don't
you?"
Gordon was doubtful. "I think I remember him," he said, "but I'm not
sure. What does he look like?"
"Oh, rather a good-looking chap--big, dark hair, plays tennis a lot and
is pretty good at it. He lives in a cottage near the hotel, the second
in the row at the left. He's a dandy chap, Billings. I don't see,
though, where he's going to get enough fellows at the Point to make up a
nine, unless there are more there this year than usual. Perhaps he's got
some fellows staying with him. He goes to St. George's, you know, and
last year he brought a couple of friends home with him for a while."
"Dick went over to the Point this morning to see about coaching a boy
who is going to Rifle Point in the Fall," said Gordon. "He's going to
look up Billings and tell him we'll play him a week from Saturday."
"Could Dick do that? Coach, I mean."
"I guess so. You know he's about the smartest fellow in his class at
school. He wants to earn some money, and there aren't many things he can
do. I hope he gets the job."
"Yes. I like Dick. He's terribly white, isn't he? Gee, if I had a bum
hip like his and had to live on crutches, I'd--I'd----" But words failed
him. He shook his head. "He's so awfully cheerful. Who is the kid he's
going to coach?"
"I've forgotten the name. He told me. Something like Prentiss, I think."
Morris shook his head again. "Don't know them. They must be new. When I
get over there, Gordon, I'll see if I can't drum up some trade for Dick.
I know about everyone there." He paused, and then added morosely, with a
wry smile: "It might be a mighty good scheme if I had him coach me a
bit. I've got to take my college exams next year, and I know blamed well
I won't pass them." He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I've got another
year yet. Do you have to go? Stay and play a couple of sets of tennis
with me. You've never tried our court, have you?"
"I'd like to, but I want to get this business settled. I guess I'd
better go and see your father about the field. I'd like to play, though,
some time," he added, as he saw Morris' face fall. "It looks like a
bully court."
"It is. It's a dandy. Fast as lightning. I haven't played much myself
this year, and I'm all out of trim. Sis and I had a couple of sets the
other day, and she pretty nearly licked me."
"I hope your sister is well," murmured Gordon. "And Mrs. Brent."
"Yes, thanks. Sis ought to be around somewhere. Wait till I see."
He got up and passed into the library, and Gordon heard him calling his
sister at the stairway. He came back in a moment. "She's coming down,"
he announced. "Don't hurry off. Dad will be in his office all the
morning, I guess. I hope you don't mind my not wanting to ask him,
Gordon. I would in a minute, only, as I say, we aren't very chummy just
now."
At that moment Louise Brent came through the doorway, and Gordon, who
had reseated himself after his first start to leave, arose again. She
was tall, like her brother, but, unlike him, was light in coloring, with
brown hair that just escaped being yellow and a very fair skin and blue
eyes. She was not a beauty, but she was pretty in spite of irregular
features, with a lot of animation and a smile that won friends at once.
She was fifteen; but she looked older, Gordon thought as he took the
hand she extended.
"I haven't seen you for a long time, Gordon," she said, as she seated
herself on the edge of Morris' chair. "Not since the school dance in
January. And then you didn't ask me for a single dance."
Gordon smiled a trifle embarrassedly. "I--I don't dance very well," he
said. "I thought it would be kinder to spare you."
"You didn't spare Grace Levering," she laughed.
"Well, Grace----"
"Is awfully nice. I know."
"I didn't mean that! I meant that--she's only thirteen--and----"
"Oh, I'm too old?" Louise opened her eyes very wide. "But I'm only
fifteen, Gordon. How old are you? Or isn't it polite to ask?"
"Fifteen, too," he laughed. "I guess the reason I danced with Grace so
much was because I thought she wasn't old enough to be fussy about the
way I did it. Kind of tough on her, though, wasn't it?"
"Kind of tough on the rest of us, you mean," responded Louise. "You'll
have to make it up this summer by coming to some of our parties at the
Point. Will you?"
"Why--yes, if you want me to. But, really and truly, I'm a fierce
dancer, Louise."
"Is he?" She turned to her brother. Morris shook his head.
"Search me. I know he can bat a ball like sixty, though. I've been
trying to get him to stay and play some tennis, but he won't. You ask
him, sis."
"Won't you?" she begged. "The court's just crying to be played on. If
you will, I'll bring you out the biggest, coldest pitcher of lemonade,
Gordon, you ever saw!"
"Thanks, but--some other time----"
"That means never!" she sighed. "I don't think you're as nice as you
used to be. Is he, Morris?"
"He's so full of business these days. Say, sis, father's going to cut up
the athletic field for building lots. What do you think of that?"
"What for?" she demanded.
"Search me. It leaves the school in a hole, all right."
"How horribly mean!" said Louise. "It was such a nice field, too! I
don't think he ought to do it, Morris, and I guess I'll tell him so."
"Go ahead!" laughed her brother. "It'll make a lot of difference--I
don't think! Gordon came around to get me to ask dad to let the fellows
use the field until he began to cut it up, but I told him that he'd
better do the asking himself. If I asked he might give orders to build a
dozen houses on it to-morrow!"
"I know." Louise nodded. "I wish you'd give up the idea of that
automobile, Morris. Mother doesn't want you to have it, either."
"Just because dad made such a fuss," he grumbled. "She was all right
before that. I'm going to have it, just the same."
"I wish you wouldn't," she murmured. "Do you think he ought to drive an
auto, Gordon? Don't you think it's too dangerous?"
"I don't know," answered Gordon. "I've never had much experience with
automobiles. I suppose, though, that if one is careful----"
"Morris won't be," mourned Louise. "He'll have an accident, kill
himself, break his arm or something."
"Oh, piffle, sis! I can run an automobile as well as any chap. I've done
it. When I get the car you'll be tickled to death, and you'll want to be
riding in it every minute."
Louise shook her head energetically. "No, I shan't, Morris. I'd be
scared to death. And I think it would be much better for you to wait
another year or two. Papa won't like it a bit if you take your money out
of the bank and spend it on an automobile."
"It's my money, and I have a right to do as I please with it," responded
her brother. "Besides, if he'd kept his word----"
"Oh, Morris, you shouldn't say things like that! Papa never actually
told you you could have it."
"Well, he as much as told me," muttered Morris. "Anyway, I'm going to
have it. Stacey would think I was a pretty funny sort if I refused to
take it after he'd got it for me."
"Maybe he could sell it to someone else," suggested Gordon. "'Most
everyone is buying the things nowadays. Well, I'll be going, I guess.
Good-bye. Good-bye, Louise. I'll come over some time and have that
tennis, Morris, if you'll let me know."
"Come whenever you can, will you? I'm at home most of the time; or I
shall be until I get my car." And Morris grinned exasperatingly at his
sister.
"Don't forget that you're to come to the Point some time and dance every
dance with me," Louise reminded, as she and Morris accompanied Gordon to
the door. "That's the only apology I'll accept."
"You'll wish you hadn't invited me after the first dance," replied the
visitor grimly. "But I'll come if you want me to some time. Good-bye."
On his wheel once more, and spinning down the shadow-dappled street, he
thought, not without a little natural envy, how fine it must be to have
as much money as the Brents. Morris had spoken of buying a
six-hundred-dollar automobile in much the same way as Gordon might have
announced his intention of purchasing a new suit of clothes! And yet, on
reflection, Morris didn't seem really happy and contented, and never
had. He always appeared to have a quarrel with someone or something.
Sometimes it was the teachers at High School, who were imposing on him;
once it had been the baseball coach, Mr. Farrel, who, according to
Morris, was keeping him off the team for spite, and now it was with his
father. It would seem, then, that the possession of much wealth didn't
always bring contentment. There was Dick Levering, who was not only poor
but a cripple as well, and who was absolutely the most cheerful and
contented fellow of all Gordon's acquaintances. It was a bit puzzling,
Gordon thought, as he whirled into E Street and headed toward the
business section of town.
Mr. Jonathan Brent's office was in the Clearfield Trust Company's
Building, opposite the common. Gordon left his wheel against the curb
and mounted the flight of marble stairs. A clerk took his name
doubtfully and indicated a chair for him to sit in while he waited Mr.
Brent's pleasure. As it happened, although the mill president was a very
busy man, Gordon didn't have to wait long. Almost at once a buzzer
sounded, the clerk disappeared, returned, and conducted Gordon through a
door whose ground-glass pane was marked "Private."
Mr. Brent's office looked out across E Street into the elm-shaded
greenery of the common. An electric fan made a soft and pleasant
whirring from the top of the big desk which, until Gordon had crossed
the room, hid Mr. Brent from view. A chair was set at the end of the
desk and into this, not very confidently, Gordon lowered himself while
Mr. Brent, without looking up, ran his eye over a letter in his hand.
Jonathan Brent was a small man, small and narrow, with a lean and
wrinkled face, shrewd but not unkindly, and a pair of gimlet-like,
blue-gray eyes. His face was clean-shaven and the grizzled brown hair
had retreated until the top of his head was as bald and shining as the
white-enameled newel-post at the foot of the Merricks' stairway. His
mouth was thin and set in a firm, straight line, a line that never
altered as, presently, he laid down the paper in his hand and raised his
gaze to Gordon's.
"Well, what do you want, my boy?" he asked, in a quick but not
unpleasant voice.
"I came to see you about the athletic field, Mr. Brent," responded
Gordon. "I heard yesterday that you intend to cut it up for building
lots, sir."
"Quite right. What of it?"
"Well, sir, you see we've been using it for baseball, and some of us are
getting up a nine to play this summer, and I wondered if you'd let us
use it until you got ready to--to build on it."
"Oh! I see. What's your name? Herrick?"
"Merrick, sir; Gordon Merrick."
"Ellis Merrick's boy?"
"Yes, sir."
"I know your father. Are you in the High School?"
"Yes, sir."
"Know my boy?"
"Yes, sir. I--I went to see him this morning. I thought maybe he would
ask you for me, but--he----"
Gordon floundered, and a tiny smile moved the corners of Mr. Brent's
straight lips.
"He didn't care to, eh? Well, Merrick, you're welcome to use the field
as long as you don't interfere with the engineers or workmen. I believe
they're going to survey there for the street in a week or so."
"Thank you, Mr. Brent."
"All right. I dare say you boys are going to miss that playground."
"Yes, sir, we are. It--it's been a fine place for us."
"Yes. Sorry I can't let you have the use of it longer, but I need the
ground. I suppose you can find another field without much trouble."
"I think so," agreed Gordon doubtfully.
"You and Morris friends?"
"Yes, sir. That is, we--we know each other pretty well."
"Only pretty well, eh? What's the matter? Don't you like him?"
"Why, yes, sir, but--but we don't see each other much."
"Doesn't he like you?"
"I think so. He seems to."
"Did he say anything to you about an automobile, Merrick?"
"Yes, sir, he mentioned it." Gordon began to wish himself away.
"Ever drive one of the things?"
"No, sir."
"Like to?"
"Yes, sir, I guess so. I think it would be fun to--to have one."
"Why doesn't your father get you one?"
"I don't think he could afford it, and, besides----"
"Yes? Besides?"
"I guess he wouldn't think I was--was old enough to run it."
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen, sir."
"Morris is sixteen. Think your father would let you have one if you were
a year older and he could afford it?"
Gordon shook his head. "I don't believe so, Mr. Brent."
"I don't, either. Well, help yourself to the field, Merrick. Glad to
have met you. Good day."