ADMITTED by a coloured housemaid who drowsily said, “Yes’m, she still
up,” in response to his inquiry, Harlan had only to step into the
Shelbys’ marble-floored “front hall” to dispel his slight doubts
concerning the identity of Martha’s callers; his brother was
unquestionably one of them.
The heavy doors leading from the hall into the drawing-room sheltering
Mr. Shelby’s Corot were closed, but Dan’s voice was audible and although
his words were indistinguishable he was evidently in high spirits and
holding forth upon some subject that required a great deal of emphatic
expounding. Harlan stepped forward to open the doors and go in but
halted abruptly, for at this moment Martha made her appearance at the
other end of the hall. She came from the rear of the house and carried
an oval silver tray whereon gleamed, among delicate napery and china, a
silver coffee pot of unusually ample dimensions.
Her serious but untroubled look was upon the tray; then she glanced up,
saw Harlan, and in surprise uttered a vague sound of exclamation. He
went quickly toward her, but before he reached her she nodded to the
housemaid in dismissal. “You can go to bed now, Emma.”
“Yes’m, thank you,” said Emma. “I’m full ready,” she added, as she
disappeared.
“I came over because I was afraid you——” Harlan began.
But Martha interrupted him at once. “You needn’t be,” she said. “There’s
nothing the matter.”
“I only thought their coming here—disturbing you at this hour——”
“It doesn’t disturb me,” she said. “It isn’t very late.”
“But wouldn’t your father——”
At that Martha laughed. “The chandelier in there fell down one night
last winter, and _it_ didn’t wake him up! At least I do run the house
when he’s asleep. Don’t look so tragic!”
“But I’m afraid they——”
“It’s nothing at all, Harlan. I’d gone upstairs, but not to bed, when
the bell rang; and when Emma told me Dan and Fred Oliphant were here, I
came down and brought them in and lit the fire for them. They _were_
rather damp!”
“But why didn’t you——”
“Send them home? Because Dan wanted to tell me all about the baby.”
“Good heavens!”
“Not at all!” she said; and as his expression still remained gloomy, she
laughed. “Won’t you open the door for me? I made coffee for them because
I thought it might do them good—especially your cousin Fred.”
Harlan uttered an exclamation of reproach addressed to himself: “Idiot!
To let you stand there holding that heavy tray!” He would have taken it
from her, but she objected.
“No; you might spill something. Just open the door for me.”
He obeyed, then followed her into the drawing-room and closed the door.
Before him, in a damask-covered armchair, was seated his second cousin,
Mr. Frederic Oliphant, a young gentleman of considerable pretensions to
elegance, especially when he had spent an evening at the club. In fact,
since the installation of this club, which the well-to-do of the town
had not recognized as a necessary bit of comfort until recently, Fred
had formed the habit of arriving home every evening with such a complete
set of eighteenth-century manners that there was no little uneasiness
about him in his branch of the Oliphant family.
At present he was leaning forward in his chair, a hand politely cupped
about his ear to give an appearance of more profound attention to what
Dan was saying. The latter stood at the other end of the room, before
the fire, and with great earnestness addressed this ardent listener; but
Harlan was relieved to see that although his brother’s eyes were
extraordinarily bright and his cheeks ruddier than usual, there appeared
no other symptoms, except his eloquence, of his dalliance at the club.
“No, and always no!” he was protesting as the door opened. “If we lose
that, we lose everything! This country——”
But here Fred sprang up to take the tray from Martha. “Permit me! Indeed
permit me!” he begged. “It must not be said of an Oliphant that he
allowed a lady to perform menial——”
“No, no!” She laughed, and evading his assistance, set the tray upon a
table. “Do sit down, Fred.”
“Since it is _you_ who command it!” he said gallantly and returned to
his chair; but on the way perceived the gloomy Harlan and bowed to him.
“My dear sir!” he said. “This is an honour as unexpected as it is
gracious; an honour not only to our hostess but to——”
“Sit down!” Harlan said brusquely.
“Since it is _you_ who command it!” the other returned with the happy
air of a man who delivers an entirely novel bit of repartee; then bowed
again and complied.
Dan came forward from his place before the fire. “Why, Harlan!” he
exclaimed. “I thought you went to spend the evening with grandma.”
“I did,” Harlan returned, and added pointedly: “Several hours ago!”
“But it isn’t late, is it?”
“No,” Martha said quickly;—“it isn’t. Won’t you both please sit down
and let me give you some coffee?”
“Really——” Harlan began, but she checked him and had her way; though
Dan did not sit down. Instead, he returned to the fireplace with the
coffee she gave him. “What I was tryin’ to explain to Fred when you came
in,” he said;—“it was something I don’t think he understood at all, but
I believe _you_ would, Martha.”
“I beg you; I beg you,” the courtly Frederic interposed. “I was never
gifted, yet I understood you perfectly. You said, ‘If we lose that, we
lose everything.’ I think you must have been speaking of champagne.”
“No, no,” Dan said, and for a moment appeared to be slightly annoyed;
then he brightened. “I told you several times I meant our work for the
new generation. The minute a man gets to be a father he belongs to the
_old_ generation, and the only use he is, it’s to plan for the new one.
From then on, that’s what his whole life ought to be—just buildin’ up
the world for his son. Now you take this boy o’ mine——”
“Excuse me,” his cousin interrupted earnestly. “You’re referring now to
the one who was born late this afternoon?”
“I mean my _boy_!” Dan replied; and his face glowed with the triumphant
word. “I have a son! Didn’t you know it?”
“It’s been mentioned, I believe, during the evening,” Frederic answered.
“Excuse me, pray.”
“When he grows up,” Dan went on radiantly, “he’s got to find everything
better because of the work the old generation’s got to do to make it
that way. That’s what we’re put in the world _for_! I never knew what I
was for until to-day. I knew I was meant for _something_; I knew I ought
to be makin’ plans and tryin’ to build _up_; but I didn’t see just what
for. I thought I did, but I didn’t. That’s what I wanted to explain to
Martha, because she’s the only one that could understand. It’s the
reason for the universe.”
“You surprise me,” Frederic remarked; and he replaced his cup with
careful accuracy upon its saucer on the arm of his chair. “Correct me if
I fail to follow you, but are you fair to your son? If he’s the reason
for the universe he ought to be able to grasp a few simple truths. You
say Martha is the only person who could understand, but have you even
tried to make _him_ understand?”
Dan laughed happily, in high good humour. “That boy’ll understand soon
enough!” he cried. “You wait till he’s old enough for me to drive him
out to Ornaby and let him look it over and see where his father fought,
bled, and died to build it for him! You wait till he learns to drive an
automobile from his father’s and his uncle’s own factory!”
“His uncle’s?” Frederic repeated, turning to Harlan. “Forgive me if I
trespass upon private ground, but I haven’t heard——”
“I have nothing to do with it,” Harlan said, frowning with an annoyance
that had been increasing since his entrance into the room. “He means his
wife’s brother.” He leaned toward Martha, who sat looking quietly at the
radiant Dan. “Did you ever hear wilder nonsense?” he said in a low
voice. “I really suspect he’s a little mad. Do tell us to go home.”
“No, no,” she whispered, and returned her attention instantly to Dan,
who was explaining to his cousin.
“My brother-in-law in New York, George McMillan, wrote me he’d got hold
of an engineer who’d made designs for a wonderful improvement in
automobile engines. McMillan wants to come out here, and he and I think
of goin’ into it together. We want to build a factory over on the west
edge of Ornaby, where it won’t interfere with the residential section.”
“The residential section?” his cousin repeated in a tone of gentle
inquiry. “Do I comprehend you? It’s over where you’ve got that tool
shed?”
“_No_, sir!” Dan exclaimed triumphantly. “We moved the tool shed this
very morning because yesterday the lot it stood on was sold. Yes, sir;
Ornaby Addition has begun to exist!”
At this Martha’s quiet attitude altered; she leaned forward and clapped
her hands. “Dan! Is it true? Have you sold some lots?”
“The first one,” he answered proudly. “The very first lot was sold the
day before my son was born!”
“How splendid!” she cried. “And they’ll build on it right away?”
“No; not right away,” he admitted. “That is, not much of a house, so to
speak. It was bought by a man that wants to own a small picnic ground of
his own, because he’s got a large family; and at first he’s only goin’
to have a sort of shack there. But he _will_ build when he sees the
other houses goin’ up all around him.”
“Pardon me,” said Frederic Oliphant. “Which other houses are you
mentioning now?”
“The houses that _will_ go up there,” Dan returned promptly. “The houses
that’ll be there for my young son to see.”
“Your ‘young son?’” Fred repeated. “Your son is still young yet, then?
It’s remarkable when you consider he’s the meaning of the universe. You
feel that when he grows up he’ll have houses to look at?”
Dan’s chest expanded with the great breath he took; his high colour grew
higher, his bright eyes brighter. “Just _think_ what he’ll have to look
at when he grows up! Why, the nurse let me hold him a few minutes, and I
got to thinkin’ about how I’m goin’ to work for him, and then about how
this country’s moved ahead every minute since it was begun, goin’ ahead
faster and faster till now it just jumps out from under your feet if you
stand still a _second_—and it grows so big and it grows so magnificent
that when I thought of what sort of a world it’s goin to be for my son,
I declare I was almost afraid to look at him; it was like lookin’ at
somebody that’s born to be a god!”
He spoke with such honest fervour, and with such belief in what he said,
that, for the moment, even his bibulous cousin said nothing, but sat in
an emotional silence, staring at him. As for Martha, an edge of tears
suddenly showed along her eyelids; but Harlan was not so susceptible.
“Dear me!” he said dryly. “After that burst of eloquence don’t you think
we’d better be starting for home? At least it would avoid an
anti-climax.”
Dan had been so rapt in his moment of vision, his exultant glimpse of a
transcendent world for his son’s heritage, that his brother’s dry voice
confused him;—he was like a balloonist who unexpectedly finds the earth
rising swiftly to meet him. “What?” he said blankly; and then, as
secondary perceptions clarified Harlan’s suggestion to him, he laughed.
“Why, yes; of course we ought to be goin’; we mustn’t keep Martha up,”
he said. “Harlan, you always do find a way to make me look mighty
ridiculous. I guess I am, too!”
With that, shaking his head and laughing, he brought his cup and saucer
to the tray upon the table beside Martha, and turned to her.
“Good-night, Martha. I guess I talk like a fool, but you know it doesn’t
happen every day, my gettin’ to be a father! I want to bring him over to
see you the first time they’ll let him outdoors. I want you to be his
godmother, Martha. I want you to help bring him up.” She rose, and he
took her hand as he said good-night again; and then, going toward the
door, he added cheerfully, with a complete unconsciousness that there
might be thought something a little odd about such a speech: “What I
hope most is, I hope he’ll grow up to be like _you_!”
Martha’s colour deepened as she met Harlan’s gaze for an instant; and
she turned quickly to say good-night to the solemn Frederic, who was
bowing profoundly before her. “Permit me, indeed,” he murmured, and
followed Dan out into the hall.
Thus, for a moment, Martha and Harlan were alone together; and he
stepped nearer to her. “Mother wanted me to apologize for him,” he said.
“I do hope you’ll——”
“Apologize for him?” she echoed incredulously. “Why? Don’t you suppose
I’m glad he wanted to come here?”
“But under the circumstances——”
“No,” she said proudly. “I’d always be glad—under any circumstances.”
He looked at her, smiled with a melancholy humour not devoid of some
compassion for her, as well as for himself, and assented in a rueful
voice, “I suppose so!” But, having turned to go, he paused and asked
wistfully: “Are there any circumstances under which anything _I_ could
do would make you glad?”
“In some ways, why, of course,” she answered with a cordiality that did
not hearten him; for he sighed, understanding in what ways he had no
power to make her glad.
“All right,” he said, and, straightening his drooped shoulders, strode
out to join his brother and cousin in the hall.
Young Mr. Frederic Oliphant was lost in a thoughtful silence while the
three went down the path to the gate, but as they passed this portal,
his attention was caught by external circumstances. “Excuse me if I
appear to seek assistance upon a point of natural history,” he
said;—“but wasn’t it raining or something when we came in here?” And,
being assured that rain had fallen at the time he mentioned, he went on:
“That makes it all the more remarkable, my not noticing it’s cleared up
until we got all the way out here to the sidewalk. I was thinking about
Dan’s speech.”
“Never you mind about my ‘speech.’” Dan returned jovially. “You’ll make
speeches yourself if you ever have a son. I could make speeches all
night long! Want to hear me?”
“Don’t begin till we reach your gate,” Fred said. “I’m going to leave
you and Harlan there and go back to the club. But when I spoke of your
speech I didn’t mean the one you made over by the fireplace, the one all
about your son’s being the meaning of the universe and gods and
everything. I meant your last speech—not a speech exactly, but what you
said to Martha.”
“I didn’t say anything to her except ‘good-night.’”
“It _seemed_ to me you did,” Fred said apologetically. “I may be wrong,
but it seemed to me you said something more. Didn’t it seem so to you,
Harlan?”
“Yes, it did,” Harlan answered briefly. The group had paused at the
Oliphants’ gate, and he opened it, about to pass within.
But his cousin detained him. “Wait a moment, I mean about Dan’s hoping
the baby would grow up to look like Martha. Didn’t it strike you——”
Dan laughed. “Oh, that? No; I said something about hoping he’d grow up
to be like her: I meant I hoped he’d have her qualities.”
“I see,” young Mr. Oliphant said pensively. “The only reason it struck
me as peculiar was I thought that was what the father usually said to
the mother.”
Thereupon he lifted his hat politely, bowed and walked away, leaving
both of the brothers staring after him.