On the following day, mother and son constituted themselves a committee
of ways and means as to the best investment of the money in furtherance
of Champney's interests. Her ambition was gratified in that she saw him
anxious to take his place in the world of affairs, to "get on" and, as
he said, make his mark early in the world of finance.
The fact that, during his college course, he had spent the five thousand
received from the sale of the first quarry, plus the interest on the
same without accounting for a penny of it, seemed to his mother
perfectly legitimate; for she had sold the land and laid by the amount
paid for it in order to put her son through college. Since he was twelve
years old she had brought him up in the knowledge that it was to be his
for that purpose. From the time he came, through her generosity, into
possession of the property, she always replied to those who had the
courage to criticise her course in placing so large a sum at the
disposal of a youth:
"My son is a man. I realize I can suggest, but not dictate; moreover I
have no desire to."
She drew the line there, and rarely had any one dared to expostulate
further with her. When they ventured it, Aurora Googe turned upon them
those dark eyes, in which at such times there burned a seemingly
unquenchable light of self-feeding defiance, and gave them to
understand, with a repelling dignity of manner that bordered hard on
haughtiness, that what she and her son might or might not do was no
one's concern but their own. This self-evident truth, when it struck
home to her well-wishers, made her no friends. Nor did she regret this.
She had dwelt, as it were, apart, since her marriage and early
widowhood--her husband had died seven months before Champney was
born--on the old Googe estate at The Gore. But she was a good neighbor,
as Mrs. Caukins could testify; paid her taxes promptly, and minded her
flocks, the source of her limited income, until wool-raising in New
England became unprofitable. An opportunity was presented when her boy
was ten years old to sell a portion of the barren sheep pastures for the
first quarry. She counted herself fortunate in being able thus to
provide for Champney's four college years.
In all the village, there were only three men, whom Aurora Googe named
friend. These men, with the intimacy born of New England's community of
interest, called her to her face by her Christian name; they were
Octavius Buzzby, old Joel Quimber, and Colonel Caukins. There had been
one other, Louis Champney, who during his lifetime promised to do much
for her boy when he should have come of age; but as the promises were
never committed to black and white, they were, after his death, as
though they had never been.
"If only Aunt Meda would fork over some of hers!" Champney exclaimed
with irritation. They were sitting on the porch after tea. "All I want
is a seat in the Stock Exchange--and the chance to start in. I believe
if I had the money Mr. Van Ostend would help me to that."
"You didn't say anything to him about your plans, did you?"
"Well, no; not exactly. But it isn't every fellow gets a chance to dine
at such a man's table, and I thought the opportunity was too good to be
wasted entirely. I let him know in a quiet way that I, like every other
fellow, was looking for a job." Champney laughed aloud at the shocked
look on his mother's face. He knew her independence of thought and
action; it brooked no catering for favors.
"You see, mother, men _have_ to do it, or go under. It's about one
chance in ten thousand that a man gets what he wants, and it's downright
criminal to throw away a good opportunity to get your foot on a round.
Run the scaling ladder up or down, it doesn't much matter--there are
hundreds of applicants for every round; and only one man can stand on
each--and climb, as I mean to. You don't get this point of view up here,
mother, but you will when you see the development of these great
interests. Then it will be each for himself and the devil gets the
hindermost. Shouldn't I take every legitimate means to forge ahead? You
heard what the priest said about Mr. Van Ostend's mentioning me to him?
Let me tell you such men don't waste one breath in mentioning anything
that does not mean a big interest per cent, _not one breath_. They
can't, literally, afford to; and I'm hoping, only hoping, you know--",
he looked up at her from his favorite seat on the lowest step of the
front porch with a keen hard expectancy in his eyes that belied his
words, "--that what he said to Father Honore means something definite.
Anyhow, we'll wait a while till we see how the syndicate takes hold of
this quarry business before we decide on anything, won't we, mother?"
"I'm willing to wait as long as you like if you will only promise me one
thing."
"What's that?" He rose and faced her; she saw that he was slightly on
the defensive.
"That you will never, _never_, in any circumstances, apply to your Aunt
Almeda for funds, no matter how much you may want them. I couldn't bear
that!"
She spoke passionately in earnest, with such depth of feeling that she
did not realize her son was not giving her the promise when he said
abruptly, the somewhat hard blue eyes looking straight into hers:
"Mother, why are you so hard on Aunt Meda? She's a stingy old screw, I
know, and led Uncle Louis round by the nose, so everybody says; but why
are you so down on her?"
He was insistent, and his insistence was the one trait in his character
which his mother had found hardest to deal with from his babyhood; from
it, however, if it should develop happily into perseverance, she hoped
the most. This trait he inherited from his father, Warren Googe, but in
the latter it had deteriorated into obstinacy. She always feared for her
self-control when she met it in her son, and just now she was under the
influence of a powerful emotion that helped her to lose it.
"Because," she made answer, again passionately but the earnestness had
given place to anger, "I am a woman and have borne from her what no
woman bears and forgets, or forgives! Are you any the wiser now?" she
demanded. "It is all that I shall tell you; so don't insist."
The two continued to look into each other's eyes, and something, it
could hardly be called inimical, rather an aloofness from the tie of
blood, was visible to each in the other's steadfast gaze. Aurora Googe
shivered. Her eyes fell before the younger ones.
"Don't Champney! Don't let's get upon this subject again; I can't bear
it."
"But, mother," he protested, "you mentioned it first."
"It was what you said about Almeda's furnishing you with money that
started it. Don't say anything more about it; only promise me, won't
you?"
She raised her eyes again to his, but this time in appeal. At forty-one
Aurora Googe was still a very beautiful woman, and her appeal, made
gently as if in apology for her former vehemence, rendered that beauty
potent with her son's manhood.
"Let me think it over, mother, before I promise." He answered her as
gently. "It's a hard thing to exact of a man, and I don't hold much with
promises. What did Uncle Louis' amount to?"
The blood surged into his mother's face, and tears, rare ones, for she
was not a weak woman neither was she a sentimental one, filled her eyes.
Her son came up the steps and kissed her. They were seldom demonstrative
to this extent save in his home-comings and leave-takings. He changed
the subject abruptly.
"I'm going down to the village now. You know I have the serenade on my
program, at eight. Afterwards I'll run down to The Greenbush for the
mail and to see my old cronies. I haven't had a chance yet." He began to
whistle for the puppy, but cut himself short, laughing. "I was going to
take Rag, but he won't fit in with the serenade. Keep him tied up while
I'm gone, please. Anything you want from the village, mother?"
"No, not to-night."
"Don't sit up for me; I may be late. Joel is long-winded and the Colonel
is booming The Gore for all it is worth and more too; I want to hear the
fun. Good night."