His father opened the door for him when he reached home,--his father in
his shirt sleeves, encircled with an odor of tobacco. With an eye keener
than usual, the boy noted particularly, as if seen for the first time,
things to which he had been accustomed all his life--the well-worn
oil-cloth on the hall, the kerosene lamp flaring dismally in its
bracket. How different it all was from the refinement of Miss Theodora's
home,--for although Miss Theodora's carpets were worn and even
threadbare, and, except in the hall, she was as sparing of gas as Mr.
Bruce himself, the odor of cooking never escaped from Diantha's domain.
The indefinable between comfort and discomfort made the Bruce's economy
very unlike that practised by Miss Theodora.
"You are late," said Mrs. Bruce querulously as Ben entered the
dining-room.
"Am I? I met Miss Theodora and walked home with them."
"Yes, and went into the house with them, I dare say!" interrupted Mr.
Bruce.
"Why not?" asked Ben.
"You always seem taken up with those people. I don't see how you can be,
all so patronizing as they are."
"Patronizing!" repeated Ben to himself. "Miss Theodora patronizing!" How
far from the truth this seemed!
"You do not mean Miss Theodora?"
"Why not Miss Theodora? She walks along the street, never looking to
the right or left, as if she were quite too good to speak to ordinary
people."
"But she is terribly near-sighted. She does not see people unless they
are right in front of her."
"I guess she could see well enough if she tried. I've noticed her cross
the street almost on a run to speak to some little black boy. She's
ready enough to take up with people like that; and she's able to see
you. Ben,--but--"
Ben flushed a little. He did not like being put on a level with Miss
Theodora's black proteges. Nor was this all. Mr. Bruce, taking up his
wife's words, continued:
"Yes, it's just as your mother says; all those people think themselves a
great way above the rest of us that are just as good as they are. I
don't blame Miss Theodora so much, for her father really was a great
man. But those Digbys! Who are they? Why, Mrs. Stuart Digby's
grandfather, they say, was a tailor in New York when my grandfather was
one of General Washington's staff officers. We didn't have to buy that
sword in our parlor second-hand in a Cornhill shop, where some people
get their family relics."
"Not the Digbys or Miss Theodora."
"About the Digbys I'm not so sure. Miss Theodora ought to have some good
things, if they didn't sell off everything when they went into that
little house." As a matter of fact, the kin of Mr. Bruce were so few
that Ben could not understand how he could generalize about them. Yet,
"my family" could not have figured more largely in his conversation, had
he been chieftain of a Scottish clan.
So rapid was Mr. Bruce's flow of language, that Ben and his mother
usually kept quiet when he was well launched on any subject. Often,
indeed, Ben let his thoughts wander far away until recalled to himself
by some direct question.
It was Kate, Kate alone, whom his father's words touched. For the
moment he felt that he might be perfectly happy could he see with the
bodily eye as small a gulf between the Digby family and his own as his
father presented to his mental vision. Seated before Miss Theodora's
hospitable fire, watching the color deepen on Kate's sensitive cheeks as
the light flickered across them, he forgot everything but her. In
Ralph's presence, however, he realized that his world and the Digbys'
were very far apart, and that his own awkwardness and roughness must be
felt all too strongly by Kate. Then for weeks he would avoid Miss
Theodora's house when Kate was there, or would run in for only a moment
with Ernest to inspect some wonderful invention by the latter then in
process of development in the basement workroom. Mr. and Mrs. Stuart
Digby he seldom thought of. But how to bridge the gulf between himself
and Kate!
The story of his own good ancestry began to have new interest for him.
He looked more closely at his little sisters. They had the delicacy of
feature which their mother still retained. They had the wax-like color
which she had long ago lost. He glanced around the shabby room and felt
rebellious. Should they be restricted to the same narrow life as their
mother's? Was poverty to keep them down as it kept down so many of their
neighbors? No, no! he would devote himself to building up a fortune, and
then--even here Kate began to be curiously mixed up with his musings,
and then he was called back to earth by his mother's voice.
The claim of his ancestors had never made a very strong impression on
Ben. He had classed them with certain other harmless pretences of his
mother's, like making a rug in the parlor cover an unmendable hole in
the carpet, or putting lace curtains in the front windows of an upper
room which in other respects was meagerly furnished. But now his point
of view had begun to change, and he could even imagine himself in time
bowing to the fetich of family.
"What's the matter, Polly?" he said one afternoon to his youngest
sister, whom he found sitting on the doorstep by herself with the traces
of tears on her face.
"Oh, Ada Green says that my new winter dress is only an old one because
it's made out of an old one of mother's; and," incoherently, "she had
ice-cream for dinner--and why can't we?"
"Who, mother?" laughed Ben.
"No, you know who I mean, Ada--they have ice-cream every Saturday, and
she always comes out and tells me, and asks me what day we have
ice-cream, and I have to say 'Never.'"
Ben, though he saw the ludicrous side of the little girl's grief, kissed
her as he had many a time before when she had been disturbed by similar
things.
"Cheer up," he said; "it won't be so very long before I can give you
ice-cream every day, and new dresses not made out of mother's old ones.
Then you can walk up and down the sidewalk and tell Ada Green; or you
can offer her some of your ice-cream,--heap coals of ice on her head."
He added more of this nonsense until the child's face brightened as she
entered the house, clinging to his arm, and mounted the attic stairs to
sit near him while he studied.
Ben's plans for the future were definite, and his hopes were not the
mere self-confidence of youth. Fortunate in securing one of the state
scholarships at the Institute, he had been told by his teachers that a
high place in his profession, that of civil engineer, might be his
ultimately. But "ultimately" meant a long time yet, and his sister was
perhaps right in sighing that before he could give her ice-cream and
similar delights, she would be too "grown up" to enjoy them.
When, therefore, he looked at his little sisters and thought of the
probable narrowness of their lives unless he should interpose, he put
aside any idle balancing of merits of his family as compared with that
of Stuart Digby.
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