I
The days that followed were the golden days of Mr. Petersen’s life, the
happiest he was ever to have.
Minnie was angelic. Her worry, her preoccupied air had gone; she was
gentle, gay, affectionate. She didn’t get well very fast and had to stay
in bed for some weeks, but that was no burden; she liked it. With her
tiny son beside her and little Sandra quietly playing nearby, she was
contented and blissful for hour after hour.
She developed a great fondness for being read aloud to; all evening and
part of the afternoon one of the two men could be seen sitting by the
bed with a book. Her taste was astoundingly catholic; as a matter of
fact, she didn’t care in the least what was read, or pay much heed to
it, so long as she could secure the uninterrupted companionship of one
of her men. She only wanted to see them there, safe and happy.
Mrs. Hansen managed the house and Sandra to perfection. There wasn’t a
bother or an annoyance from one day’s end to another. Except that Mr.
Petersen felt a bit disturbed about the brother’s state of health. He
had taken a great liking to the fellow, and he hated to see him so
despondent.
Theirs was a most curious companionship. He realised how curious some
time later. Mr. Petersen had never before met a man of this class and
type; he had been wont to despise them, to look upon them as hindrances
to the Socialist scheme, and useless from any point of view. Now he
revised his ideas, in his open-minded fashion. Alec’s education he
couldn’t admire; he really knew nothing at all, nor was he particularly
intelligent. But his ideas were fine. They were not personal to him,
they were nothing more than traditions, and yet Mr. Petersen was forced
to admit that such traditions were quite as good, if not a great deal
better, than anything which most men would have been able to work out
originally. Principles of honour, of fidelity, of endurance. No matter
that he didn’t live up to his principles very well; who did, anyway? Mr.
Petersen himself was aware of many betrayals of his own faith. The thing
was to aspire.
What is more, he liked the personality of the fellow; his simplicity,
his infinite gentleness with Sandra. Certainly he would have liked to
see him more cheerful, still, he could very well understand this
depression in a man well over thirty who had failed to make a living for
himself. He proposed looking about for some opening for him, but Alec
said, no thanks, he was going away in a day or so. He was reserved to
the point of mysteriousness. Mr. Petersen used to discuss him with
Minnie and ask her advice.
“You know him better than I do,” he said. “What do you think would suit
him?”
Minnie, as always incapable of answering a question, would say:
“But let’s keep him here, anyway, Chris. It’s the best place for him.”
She had the greatest devotion for her brother, a devotion which Mr.
Petersen fancied was not quite appreciated. He was so formal with the
affectionate little soul. If she succeeded in kissing him good-night or
good-morning, he would turn scarlet and actually frown at her. He never
returned a caress, never spoke a tender word to her. He seemed rather
to avoid her. He was willing enough to read aloud, but if she
interrupted him, and wanted to chat a bit, he lost his temper.
“Do you want me to read or _not_?” he would ask, menacingly.
Sombre and inscrutable, he withdrew into himself, disregarding even Mr.
Petersen’s always renewed offers of friendship. He treated Mr. Petersen
with a respectful deference which would have been grotesque if he had
not been so obviously sincere.
Sandra he loved passionately. It surprised Mr. Petersen to hear him
upbraiding Minnie for her carelessness with the child. Her food, her
clothes, her manners. He was always saying that she should be taken to
church, and taught what he called “decent ideas,” and Minnie always
promised to comply when she grew stronger. She was invariably
propitiating toward her brother, as toward someone she had wronged....