Comfortably ensconced in a victoria, two men were bowling out through
the suburbs of Radnor in the rapidly approaching dusk of a winter
afternoon. One, wrapped to the chin in furs, sat well back in the corner
of the carriage as if desirous of all possible protection from the cold;
the other leaned forward in a somewhat restive attitude and looked like
a man occupying his position under protest. Each was immersed in his own
thoughts, but from time to time the younger man took a surreptitious
glance in the direction of the older as if he were endeavoring to make
some important discovery. He was, in truth, trying to decide if the
moment were propitious for laying before his father a project which he
had been for some time considering, but the impassive face of Mr. Landor
told him nothing, and they continued to ride on in silence. Finally, in
a tone of annoyance the older man said: "I wish, Kenneth, you would
oblige me by leaning back and appearing as if you were enjoying
yourself. I must confess it is no particular pleasure to me to drive
with a man who looks as if he might leap from the carriage at any
moment."
"Then why do you insist on my going, father? You know I detest this sort
of thing--it is only fit for women. If you would come out with me now in
my trap, it would be very different."
"Your breakneck method of driving does not suit me at all. I suppose I
may be allowed to take my pleasures in my own way, and it occurs to me
that it is not altogether unreasonable to request you to accompany me
occasionally."
To this Kenneth made no reply, while he decided that the moment was not
propitious for introducing the subject uppermost in his mind.
He conceded, however, to his father's wishes in so far as to relax from
his objectionable posture, though there was about him a suggestion of
martyrdom that was irritating.
"What have you been doing to-day?" asked the senior Landor, abruptly.
"Nothing special, sir."
"Do you ever do anything special?" turning two penetrating eyes upon
him.
"Why, yes; I suppose so. I was thinking of something special just now."
After all, it might as well come out.
"If it is of any importance, I should like to hear about it."
This was encouraging.
"I was thinking of a trip around the world, sir. To start in a month,
say, and be gone two or three years."
Mr. Landor received this proposition with a quick drawing down of his
shaggy eyebrows and a closer upturning of his fur collar about his chin.
His face now was almost hidden from view.
"Do you propose to go alone?" he asked.
"No; two fellows at the Aldine Club have talked me into joining them. Of
course, sir, I realize you may object to so long an absence," said
Kenneth, who felt that a storm was brewing, "and I might be able to make
it a year or so if you preferred."
"Inasmuch as you have scarcely been at home a month in the past year or
so, I should prefer that you dismiss the project altogether."
"That seems rather surprising, sir," said Kenneth, with a laugh his
father did not like, "when I have been going and coming without comment
ever since I left college."
"All the more reason why you should begin to think of settling down,"
replied his father testily.
"Settling down?" repeated the son; "what do you want me to do?"
"We will come to that later. The main thing is, that you are to give up
this notion and remain here with me. If you force me to it I shall
refuse to give you the money for such an expedition."
"I have some property of my own," Kenneth said, his whole nature rising
in rebellion.
"You wouldn't be such a fool as to squander that pittance on a pleasure
trip! Be careful, Kenneth! I am in no mood to be thwarted to-day!"
"Then why do you thwart me? It is not a remarkable thing for a man to
want to travel," trying to speak calmly, "and I don't see why you should
take it in this unexpected way--it is unreasonable."
But Mr. Landor, being a quick-tempered man, was beyond reason and had
too little comprehension of his son to realize that his opposition
tended to fan into a fixed resolve what had up to this time been only a
pleasing possibility. There was a stern look about his mouth as he said
to Kenneth, "You will do as I say, and remain for the present in Radnor.
I have other plans for you."
As he had never been dictated to in his life, this emphatic order fell
with considerable astonishment upon Kenneth's ears, even though he knew
his father to be in an irascible frame of mind. He thought, however,
that the thing might blow over, as many a quarrel between them had blown
over, after which, in all these contests of will, the younger man had
invariably gained the day.
Kenneth was not of an ugly disposition; indeed, his nature was most
lovable, while his peculiar exemption from responsibility had produced
an inconsequential, happy-go-lucky attitude toward life that was one of
his greatest charms. And the selfishness that sometimes cropped out in
his character was not viciousness, but the natural outcome of
over-indulgence. It had never occurred to him that his father would make
any demands upon him, though in a vague, unformed sort of way he
intended ultimately to make demands upon himself. Just how he should do
this gave him occasional delightfully introspective moments in which he
played with possibilities. In his father's eyes that was Kenneth's great
weakness--that he played with all the abandon of a vagabond; but to
blame the man for this was a great injustice, since his father had not
suggested or encouraged his taking up any business or profession, and
had supplied him with a liberal income dating back to the beginning of
his college career.
To this indolent, pleasure-loving son, nothing could be in greater
contrast than the father. Caleb Landor took life hard, but life had been
hard on him. Born of poor parents in a Maine village, he had been inured
to poverty from his infancy. His schooling had been meager, and
sandwiched in between long periods when he was required to lend a hand
in the saw-mill where his father was employed. But the habit of industry
thus acquired proved useful, and stimulated his desire to get into the
world of business, so that he made his way eventually to Radnor, the
goal of his ambition. Then followed years of hard work and small pay,
during which the greater part of his earnings went down to the large
family in the Maine village. At thirty he was looked upon as a man of
ability; at forty he was a prosperous merchant, with Fortune beckoning
him on. By all the laws of compensation this should have been his
turning point to happiness, but he had the misfortune to be married for
his money at this period of his career, by a frivolous Radnor girl of
good position, whose beauty turned his head. As after the first months
of marriage she took no pains to conceal her indifference to him, he
received a bitter blow, from which he was many years recovering. He was
spared, however, the anguish of protracted disappointment, for she had
died in the second year of their marriage, leaving him a baby son. And
so Caleb, giving all, lost what he had never won.
This episode in his life did not tend to soften a nature somewhat morose
and caused him to draw more and more within himself, devoting his
energies to his business, and almost forgetting at times that he was a
father.
When he did think of Kenneth, it was to realize that he had his mother's
beauty; but even at an early age there was no indication that he had
inherited her smallness of mind, for which his father felt devoutly
grateful, though there were times when he could scarcely bear the boy
about, so forcibly did his likeness to his mother bring back the past.
So he left him to grow up among the servants in the dreary house, sent
him at fourteen to a preparatory school and then to college. He intended
that Kenneth should have everything he himself had missed. In the matter
of money it pleased him to provide generously for the lad, who grew to
manhood the envy and favorite of all his associates, but almost a
stranger to his father, who was equally a stranger to him. It did not
occur to Caleb Landor that this was because he had given to the boy
lavishly of everything except himself.
When the carriage drew up before their door on the evening with which
this chapter opens, Kenneth sprang out with a feeling of relief and
turned to help his father. It struck him suddenly that he looked old and
feeble, which would not be strange, inasmuch as he was fast approaching
his seventieth birthday, but Kenneth had never been impressed by this
before.
"You had better take my arm, sir," he said, pleasantly, "the sidewalk is
slippery to-night."
Mr. Landor refused the proffered aid and went on ahead into the house.
He had yet to learn that Kenneth could be leaned upon.
Through dinner there was little conversation between them, not from any
constraint arising out of the recent disagreement, but because each was
in the habit of carrying on his own inward train of thought without so
much as a suspicion that the outward expression of it would have been of
interest to the other. But it would have been of interest. Kenneth often
wondered what his father's opinions were on the topics of the day and
many times would have broken the oppressive silence if the idea had not
become fixed in his mind that his father built up this barrier of
reserve from choice. It was a natural impression, but a wrong one, and
led to many misunderstandings, for though he gave his son no
encouragement to be communicative he secretly longed for his
companionship and was beginning to feel a need of his presence in the
house.
Kenneth went to a couple of receptions that evening and looked in at a
dance later on; but did not remain long, for things of this sort bored
him, albeit he was very popular in Radnor society.
As he entered the house after midnight he noticed a bright light in his
father's room. This was so unusual an occurrence that he feared
something might be wrong and ventured to knock at the door. There was no
response, which was not reassuring, so he opened the door and walked in.
In a big chintz-covered chair sat Mr. Landor asleep before the fire. He
had undressed and was enveloped in a heavy dressing-gown that fell away
at the neck, disclosing the throat upon which Time lays such relentless
fingers. He stirred a little and Kenneth was about to leave the room
satisfied that his father was all right and would probably resent this
intrusion, when the older man woke with a start, and accosting him in a
tone more curious than resentful, said, "What are you doing in here?"
"I noticed your light, and thought you might be ill. Is there anything I
can do for you before I turn in?" replied Kenneth, looking down from the
height of his six feet upon the shrunken figure of his father.
"Nothing at all, nothing at all," waving him off; "I am reading." He
picked up the newspaper that had fallen to the floor, and became
suddenly absorbed in it, after the manner of persons who object to being
caught napping.
A smile flickered about Kenneth's well-shaped mouth but was properly
suppressed. There was something pathetic, almost appealing to him
to-night about his father.
"If you are not in any particular hurry to finish your paper may I stop
a moment?" he said.
"There is a chair--make yourself comfortable."
"I would like to talk about those plans you spoke of this afternoon,"
began Kenneth as soon as he was seated. "I wish very much you would tell
me more about them--what your idea is for my immediate future."
"Where are your own ideas? At twenty-eight a man must have a few." Mr.
Landor kicked a log impatiently, sending up a shower of sparks.
"We were speaking of your ideas, were we not, sir? Mine can come later."
"So you have some, have you? Good! After all, with your education and
advantages it is to be expected. But as your ideas are to be kept to
yourself, so are mine. We will talk no further on this subject."
"We _will_ talk on this subject," said Kenneth, rising and standing with
head erect and flashing eyes. "I am not a boy, father, as you very well
know, and I shall not consent to this sort of thing for a moment. If you
have anything in your mind regarding me it is my right to know it, and
your duty to tell me. You spoke to-day of my settling down. I have been
thinking of it a good deal since, and I am inclined to think you are
right about it; but I would like to know just what you mean--just what
it is you want me to do."
"Kenneth, I want you around." The words came in a muffled tone that was
scarcely audible.
"Want me around?" repeated Kenneth incredulously; "why, I thought I
drove you to desperation with my lazy ways and erratic hours and general
worthlessness."
"So you do, so you do," gruffly, "but I like it. I like to know you are
in the house. Stay around, Kenneth and you can have things pretty much
your own way. We will say no more about settling down to business."
"Oh! that is all right, father; I'll stay." It was a new sensation to
find that he was wanted. Moved by a sudden impulse he drew near meaning
to grip his father's hand--the desire was strong within him to get close
to the old man. But when he neared the chair he turned sharply on his
heel and crossed to the door, withheld by the habit of years.
Mr. Landor was watching him through half-closed lids, and made no sign.
"Good night, father; glad I found you up. I have something in mind I
would like to discuss with you later if I am to stay on here."
"Any time, any time. I have leisure enough for anything of importance.
Come in again some time--good night." His head was turned away as he
spoke.
"Poor old governor," thought Kenneth, as he went to his room; "I believe
he is lonely."
When the door had closed, Caleb Landor sat some moments in deep
meditation. Then he rose and slowly crossed the room to a table on which
stood a box-shaped rosewood writing-desk curiously inlaid with
pearl--the most treasured possession of his mother long since dead. This
he unlocked, and lifting the lid pressed a small knob by means of which
a secret drawer flew open. In this shallow receptacle lay an oval
miniature which the man took out and held under the strong light of the
gas jet. It was the face of a woman, young and very beautiful, and for a
long while the image held the man transfixed. Once he lifted his head
suddenly, as if he thought some one was approaching but it was only the
noise of Kenneth's boots flung upon the floor in an adjoining room. On
the mantel a clock ticked solemnly, warning him of the flight of time,
and at last he sighed wearily, and with unsteady hands dropped the
miniature into its hiding place and locked the desk. For a moment he
leaned heavily on the table and appeared to be listening, but all was
still in Kenneth's room. Over the stern impassive features of Caleb
Landor came a look of yearning tenderness. Then he put out the gas and
went to bed.