He was a queer chap, was Eddie. Born of a selfish and frivolous mother
and a morosely indifferent father, neglected, left in the care of
servants of the sort that always collect about an extravagant and
careless mistress, he had never acquired as a matter of course those
ideals which the average boy of his class takes for granted. He had a
perfectly natural inclination toward truth, honour, and justice, and
toward clean living, but he had had to discover these virtues
laboriously, all alone. In consequence, he gave them a sort of perverted
importance. He became somewhat of a prig.
And having with such difficulty discovered his truths, he was inclined
to be a bit domineering and intolerant about them. He was angry and
disappointed at finding any one imperfect.
What is more, he was for the first time in his life finding himself a
person of some importance. Always before he had been under a
disadvantage, always conscious of his "queerness," of having a mother
who was a laughing-stock and a father who was a scandal. He was priggish
and unsociable, but he wasn’t a scholar. He had done very badly in all
the various schools to which he had been sent by fits and starts; and
when at last he had been somehow got into college, he had done still
worse. He had hated his failure there; he had so longed to be popular
and friendly, and had been so markedly neither.
So he had gone into business at nineteen, and he had found himself at
once. He did amazingly well. He had a clever, sympathetic, imaginative
brain, he had good judgment, he knew how to handle his people, how to
deal with men; but at the same time he had not very much common sense.
He was like one of those musical infant prodigies, so shamelessly
exploited by their families. He had this amazing talent for making
money, and the people about him, well aware of his virtue and his
innocence, had known perfectly how to make use of his ability. He was a
cruelly driven slave to his exalted idea of family obligations.
Eddie wasn’t aware of it, however. He was willing to spend all his youth
in acquiring money for other people to spend. He took a sort of pride in
exhausting himself. He was young enough and strong enough to enjoy
affronting his health. It seemed to him a noble thing to support one’s
family. This was one of his pet ideas--ideas which he had got from books
or from other people’s talk, none of which had developed quietly and
wholesomely from childhood, or from experience. His instincts were sound
and admirable. He practically never had a base impulse; but his ideas
were grotesque. He was, in some respects, a fool, and he was treated as
fools must always be treated by the self-seeking.
There was truth in Angelica’s fancy. There was something in this boy
that was what men chose to call kingly--a generosity, a fine force, a
self-forgetfulness, a profound sense of his obligations, even toward
this waif, so recently brought to his attention. He believed it his duty
to help her.
"Why don’t you go into business?" he asked her abruptly.
"Why?"
"I think you’d do well. You seem level-headed. And there’d be some sort
of future in it, instead of pottering about here like an old woman."
"But I don’t like business. I like to be here, with nice people, where I
can learn something."
"That’s quite right, of course; but what will you do--later?"
"Well--I don’t know, exactly. I just think that if I can--sort of
improve myself--some sort of chance will come some day."
She reflected a moment.
"All these magnificent women," she said. "They just kind of waited round
for something to turn up, didn’t they? I mean, they didn’t plan what
they were going to be. I haven’t thought it all out; but I mean to--oh,
to go _up_ all the time, to get to be somebody!"
Eddie, unconscious of his own infantile innocence, smiled at her
naïveness, but admired her.
"I’ll see that you get a chance," he said. "And I’ll help you to learn,
if you like. If you’ll study, I’ll give you what spare time I can."
"All right," said Angelica. "That’ll be fine! Only," she added, "what I
want isn’t exactly things you study out of books. It’s--good manners,
and the right way of talking."
"You’ll pick up all that from Mrs. Geraldine," returned Eddie. "You
couldn’t find a better model. By the way, how did you get on with her
to-day?"
"I guess she liked me. She said she wanted me to stay."
"That’s good!" he cried, very much pleased. "If Polly’ll take an
interest in you, you’ll be absolutely all right. She’s a splendid
woman."
"But she’s so much _older_ than you!" thought Angelica. "It’s so queer!"
"Yes," he went on, "Polly’s one of the best. Of course she’s not herself
now, losing the little chap. He was nearly two years old, and a fine
little fellow. Poor girl! She was wrapped up in him. We all were, for
that matter."
Angelica was puzzled.
"But," she said, "don’t you----”
"Don’t I what?"
"I mean--it must be nearly as bad for you as for her."
"_What?_ Why, there’s no comparison between a son and a nephew."
"For Gawd’s sake! Wasn’t he your son?"
"Of course not! My dear girl, you didn’t think I was Polly’s husband,
did you?"
"Yes, I did," she faltered.
"I’m her brother-in-law. She’s my brother’s wife."
"Oh! She’s a widow, then?"
"No, no, no! He’s alive. He’s here, in this house; but he’s a poet, you
know, and when he’s working he shuts himself up for days at a time. He’s
a queer chap--a regular genius."
"That’s pretty hard on his wife, I should say."
"That’s what the wife of a fellow like Vincent must expect. He is a bit
trying, but you have to make allowances. He’s very remarkable--writes
beautiful stuff."
"I don’t like po’try," said Angelica, who had already taken a dislike to
this brother.
"I’m not very fond of it, either, but I admire it."
"I don’t," she persisted.
"You shouldn’t say that. It’s childish. Every one admires poetry."
She maintained an obstinate silence. Eddie was rather at a loss. He
believed that every one ought to admire poets; he faithfully endeavored
to do so, and had made himself believe that he had succeeded. He felt
that his brother was a genius, accountable to no one, and not to be
blamed for faults which seemed to Eddie peculiarly disgusting and
unmanly; but he didn’t know how to make Angelica admire his brother.
Even the fact of Vincent’s genius was by no means established, and could
not be demonstrated to an outsider, for he had never published anything
yet, nor attempted to do so.
"He’s a very interesting chap," Eddie said. "Very!"
"Well, I’m glad he’s not my husband," said Angelica. "Shutting himself
up like that--wouldn’t suit _me_!"
Eddie frowned.
"I should think it was a privilege to be the wife of--of a genius."
Again Angelica was silent.
"Of course," said Eddie, "I don’t pretend to understand him. We’ve never
seen much of each other. He lived with my father and I lived with my
mother. He was brought up differently--a Roman Catholic, for one thing;
then he went to an English university for a year or two, and he’s
traveled. Very well-educated chap; altogether different from me. A
scholar, and very artistic."
"What does he do for a living?" Angelica asked.
"He’s just beginning his career," said Eddie. "It is very hard to get
started with that sort of thing."
Angelica’s silence was eloquent.
"Then who’s this feller you call ‘doctor’?" she asked abruptly. "Does he
live here?"
"That’s Dr. Russell, my mother’s second husband."
"Oh, I see! I had you all mixed up. But whose house is this--his?"
"No. It’s mine."
"Yours? Do they all live here with you?"
"Certainly," he said, reddening and frowning. "I want them to. I don’t
want to live alone--no social life."
Poor devil! He was conscious of something ridiculous in his position,
and yet he was proud of it. There weren’t many fellows of his age who
could have done this. It had meant taking fearful risks, of course, and
working without rest, but the worst of it was over now. He was really
prominent in his world; he was a sort of financial prodigy, admired and
watched. He called himself, on his office door, a stock-broker. He was
on the road to becoming a millionaire; he had made up his mind to do it,
and there was nothing to stop him.
"Well," said Angelica, "you’re awful good to them."
Again he frowned. They had both grown suddenly ill at ease, at a loss
for words. Angelica got up.
"Good night!" she said abruptly. It was her way of terminating an
awkward moment.
"Good night!" Eddie answered, rather absent-mindedly.
With her volume of "Magnificent Women" tucked under her arm, Angelica
went back into her own room.
"He’s a fool," she said to herself, "keeping all those people; but there
_is_ something about him. I don’t know--I guess he’s kind of magnificent
himself."