Miss Theodora gave in, partly because she herself had begun to see that
she might wrong Ernest by insisting on his carrying out her ideas. His
poor rank in the classics showed a mind unlike that of his father or his
grandfather. When she saw his brow darken at mention of the work he must
do to get off his condition in Greek, she remembered how cheerful he had
once been whistling over his work in his basement room. She longed to
see him again engaged in congenial work or studies. Therefore, without
vigorous defence, the castle in Spain which she had founded on Ernest's
professional career fell under Ernest's direct assault. But she was
disappointed, and although she did not go out of her way to look for
sympathy, she accepted all that Miss Chatterwits and Diantha offered
her. The former really believed that Harvard was the only institution in
the United States in which a young man could get the higher education.
"I don't know," she said, "as I ever heard of a great man--that is, a
scholar, for I don't forget some of the Presidents--that hadn't
graduated at Harvard. Not but what a man might be great, I suppose, that
wasn't what you would call a scholar; but I did think that Ernest would
follow right after his grandfather, not to speak of his father. And all
the books you've saved for him, too, Miss Theodora!--it does seem too
bad."
"Oh, I still expect Ernest to be a great man," said Miss Theodora, a
trifle dubiously. "I am sure that he has shown considerable talent
already for inventing things."
"Ye-es," was Miss Chatterwits' doubtful response. "Ye-es,--but it seems
as if most of the things has been invented that's at all likely to give
a man a great reputation,--the telegraphs and steamboats and steam
engines, not to mention sewing machines, which I must say has made a
great difference in my work."
"Oh, well, sometimes men benefit the world by inventing some little
thing, or making an improvement--well, in steam engines or something of
that kind."
"I dare say,--I haven't any doubt but Ernest'll be smarter than any boy
in the school where he's going. But it always did seem to me that
studies of that kind were well enough for Ben Bruce--and such; but
Ernest,--he seems to belong out at Harvard."
This was unkind--for Miss Chatterwits really liked Ben Bruce very much.
But lately she had had one or two rather wordy encounters with Mrs.
Bruce when they had met by chance at a neighbor's house. The little
dressmaker was fond of "drawing the line," as she said, and relegating
people, in conversation, at least, to their proper places. Mrs. Bruce
had similar proclivities; but with less accurate data on which to base
her classification of her neighbors, she sometimes made mistakes on
which Miss Chatterwits was bound to frown.
"If I went about sewing from house to house," said Mrs. Bruce, "I
suppose I might know more about people than I do; but being in private
life, it isn't to be supposed I know much but what has been handed down
to me in my own family."
"Well, if you went about sewing from house to house," said Miss
Chatterwits, "you'd be more use to your family than you are now." With
which last word Miss Chatterwits had flounced away, and for a time spoke
somewhat depreciatingly of the Bruces, although in her heart she envied
them their Revolutionary ancestor.
Miss Theodora had no petty pride. She liked Ben; she knew that he was a
good friend for Ernest, and the one thing that reconciled her to the
change in Ernest's career was the fact that, for a year at least, he
would be able to have much help and advice from Ben. After the latter
should get his scientific degree, he would probably leave Boston; but
for the present she knew that his friendship would mean much to Ernest.
Ernest spent six weeks of the summer after his decision about college at
a quiet seashore village with Ben. Ben tutored Ernest in various
branches in which he was deficient, and proved an even better friend to
him than Miss Theodora had hoped. Sometimes, as they sat in a little
cove at the edge of the water, letting their books fall from their
hands, gazing at the crescent-shaped Plymouth shore, they would talk of
many things outside of their work. Ben was an enthusiast about the early
history of New England. He loved to theorize over the country's
possibilities, and to trace its present greatness from the principles
planted by the Plymouth and Massachusetts Bay colonies. Once as they sat
there talking, Ernest exclaimed: "Those men were workers, Ben! Sometimes
I think that we are all wrong today,--we attach so much importance to
books. Now, I believe that I should have been much better off now and
happier if I could have gone at once to work two or three years ago,
instead of undertaking--"
But Ben interrupted him. "Oh, no! you are wrong. You do not realize your
privileges. Perhaps you will be surprised to hear that I envied you your
chance of going to Harvard. It would have been my choice to go there if
I could. But the Institute was more practical, and I dare say was the
best for me. Only--don't make too little account of your advantages,
Ernest."
What Ben said was true enough. His own mind was essentially that of the
scholar. He could have gone on forever acquiring knowledge. He had no
desire to put it at once to the practical use to which necessity
compelled him. Yet, understanding Ernest's temperament, he had not
discouraged him from leaving college, and he stood ready to help him to
the utmost in his scientific work.
Many a time, however, with no envious mind, he had wished that it had
been his to change places with Ernest. What delightful hours, he
thought, he could have passed within the gray walls of the college
library! He would have been no more inclined than Ernest, perhaps, to
follow Miss Theodora's plans for a lawyer's career. No; he would have
aimed rather to be a Harvard professor. Had fortune favored him, he
would have spent a long time in post-graduate study, not only at
Cambridge, but at some foreign university. "What folly!" he would then
suddenly cry; "life is practical." But while doing the duty that lay
nearest, he knew well enough that Harvard would have meant infinitely
more to him than his chosen course.
During two years only of Ernest's Technology course were he and Ben
together. When the latter was graduated he went West at once to begin
his contest for the honors and the wealth which were to work that
wonderful change in the affairs of his family. But Ernest had started
well, and even without his friend's guidance he kept on in the path he
had marked out. To give an account of the four years of his work would
be to tell a rather monotonous story. This was not because he allowed
his life to be a mere routine--far from this. While he worked
energetically during the winter, he managed to find time for recreation.
Society, so-called, did not interest him. But he had a group of friends,
of fixed purpose like his own, who were still sufficiently boyish to
enjoy life. With them he took long walks in search of geological
specimens, inviting them home on winter evenings to share Miss
Theodora's simple tea.
From some of these Western friends of Ernest's, with a point of view so
unlike her own, Miss Theodora gained an entirely different outlook on
life. Ernest had impressed on her the fact that the West was to be his
home, at least, until he had made a lot of money. She began, therefore,
to take an interest, not only in these Westerners, with their broad
pronunciation, but in the Western country itself. She re-read "The
Oregon Trail"; she read one or two other books of Western travel. She
studied the topography of Colorado and Nevada in her old atlas, and she
always noted in the newspapers chance scraps of information about that
distant region.
Nahant knew Ernest no more in summer. His long vacation was always spent
elsewhere in practical field work. He almost dropped out of the lives
of those who had known him so well as a little boy. At the same time, he
had enough social diversion. In the new set of which he now formed one
there was always more or less going on. The sisters of some of his
friends invited him to their dances. He seemed so heartily to enjoy his
new popularity that Kate realized, with a certain pain, that he was
drawing away from her; that he was departing far from that pleasant old
West End life. There was an irony of fate in remembering that by using
her influence in the direction of the new work which Ernest had
undertaken, she had helped to send him farther away.
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