I
When Grace reached home that evening her absence of the preceding night
was barely mentioned by her mother, and Ethel did not refer to it at
all. The conduct of another member of the family had aroused grave
apprehensions in the domestic circle and any suspected derelictions
of her own were suffered to pass, or were accepted in a spirit of
resignation, as a part of a visitation of an inscrutable providence
upon the house of Durland.
Roy had turned up in the early hours of the morning much the worse for
dalliance with a contraband beverage that had served him ill. There was
gloom in the kitchen where she found her mother and Ethel preparing
supper and after satisfying herself that she was not the cause of the
depression she summoned courage to ask her mother what had happened.
“I think, mother,” said Ethel loftily, “that Grace should _know_. It
may be possible that she can help us in our trouble. Roy has always
been fonder of her than of me.”
Ethel’s tone was replete with intimations that this affection was not
wholly complimentary to either her brother or sister. She entered
upon a circumstantial account of Roy’s misbehavior which omitted
nothing that could enhance its heinousness, Mrs. Durland interrupting
occasionally to soften the harsh terms in which Ethel described Roy’s
appearance on the snowy threshold at two o’clock, in the care of two
young friends in little better condition than himself. It had been
necessary to summon a doctor to relieve Roy’s stomach of the poison he
had consumed.
“I’m sure it’s the first and last time for Roy,” said Mrs. Durland.
“He’s terribly cut up over it; but of course at the holiday season, and
meeting old friends and all, I suppose we must make allowances.”
“That’s the way to look at it, mother,” said Grace, sincerely grieved
for her mother and anxious to restore her confidence in Roy. “I know
Roy wouldn’t do anything to trouble you. We ought to be glad that stuff
didn’t kill him! Roy isn’t the only boy who thinks it smart to drink
now that it’s forbidden. I hear a lot about that, down town.”
“I suppose you do,” said Mrs. Durland, catching hopefully at the
suggestion that her boy was not the only wanderer in the path that
leads to destruction.
“Roy knows our hopes are centered in him; there’s not the slightest
excuse for his conduct!” Ethel resumed, unwilling that Roy’s sin should
be covered up in charitable generalizations. “Instead of running around
with a lot of dissolute young men he ought to be making friends who can
help him get a start in life. As for prohibition, it’s the law of the
land and you’d think a young man who’s studying law would respect it.
Only the other day Osgood gave me an article with statistics showing
what’s being done to enforce the law and it will only be a short time
until the rum power is completely vanquished.”
“It’s dying mighty hard,” remarked Grace cheerfully. “Anybody can get
whiskey who has the price.”
“One would think--” began Ethel, moved at once to give battle.
“Oh, I’m not hankering for it myself,” Grace interrupted. “But they
ought to enforce the law or repeal it. I’m only saying what everybody
knows.”
“Well, of course, Grace, we don’t know just _who_ your friends are,”
Ethel retorted.
“Oh, they probably wouldn’t amuse you even if you knew them!” Grace
flung back.
Whereupon Mrs. Durland, who was arranging a tray with coffee and toast
to carry up to Roy, announced that enough had been said on the subject.