VI

Little Fred has been graduated from college without the loss of his

front teeth or an eye. He has a few scars, which will not permanently

disfigure him; and though he halts slightly as the result of a strained

tendon in the calf of one of his legs, Dr. Meredith assures us that

this is chiefly a nervous symptom, which will pass off presently. He

says Fred is a little run down, and he advises raw eggs and milk

between meals. I assume that the doctor is right, but it seems strange

to me that a boy should get run down through foot-ball exercise.

However, he is to go abroad for six months, which ought to mend

matters, and then buckle down to work with Leggatt & Paine. He is an

honest, manly fellow, who will make friends, and, provided he does not

break his neck in following the hounds or playing polo, is likely to do

well.

David, my second boy, is a born chemist and a genuine book-lover

besides. He is at the School of Science, to which we decided to send

him, instead of to college, in view of the fact that his proclivities

were in the line of gases and forces rather than Greek roots and

history. He is doing famously, I believe; and though I am a profound

ignoramus on such matters, I should not be at all surprised if he were

to make a name for himself early in life by some valuable discovery in

the electrical or bacillic line. He has lately made a test of all the

wall-papers and upholstery in our house, and discovered, to our dismay,

that there is arsenic in pretty nearly everything, including some of

the bed-sheets, which, strange to state, in spite of their innocent

appearance, proved to be particularly full of the deleterious poison.

We have had to overhaul everything in consequence, and Josephine firmly

believes that Fred's nervous halt is due to the presence of arsenic in

his system, for the bed-sheets in his college room belonged to the

condemned batch. Seeing that the rest of us are perfectly well, I

secretly suspect that late hours and tobacco are more to blame than

arsenic for my athletic son's condition; but in the teeth of scientific

warning I have not ventured to run the risk of continued exposure, and

have consented to the purchase of new carpets, curtains, window-shades,

and other household apparel.

I am much more concerned, to tell the truth, lest some of the germs

which David is cosseting in his bed-chamber may get loose and ravage

the community. He has a bacillus farm, where, according to his

account, the cholera germ, the germ of tuberculosis, the typhoid-fever

germ, and the diphtheria germ are growing side by side for his private

edification. As Josephine says, there are certain risks which a brave

man has to take; but I am not sure that this is one of them. Even my

darling is a little anxious on the score of contamination, in spite of

her scientific son's assurance that his pets are thoroughly harmless.

I do not really know whether Josephine is prouder of Fred or of David.

Certainly her mind is comparatively at rest regarding them both,

notwithstanding my second troy is not quite like other people. I do

not mean that he is boorish or eccentric, merely that he is bookish and

self-absorbed. He takes no interest in his personal appearance, and he

avoids every young woman except his sisters. Fred is dandified, keenly

fond of the social interests of the day and of the other sex. I

foresee that he bids fair to be a leading man of affairs, and to figure

prominently in society, and later on to become a member of Congress or

to be sent abroad as a foreign minister. But he is just like everybody

else, so to speak; or rather he accepts the world as he finds it and

accommodates himself to it. Now, David is cast in a different mould.

He is essentially unconventional. And yet, though his mother sighs now

and then over his repugnance to young ladies, and tries to badger him

into looking a little more spruce, I can perceive that she is

thoroughly proud of his originality and independence, and believes that

he is even more likely than his conventional brother to distinguish

himself and immortalize the family name. Josephine used to say, when

the boys were little, that she hoped one of them would be a clergyman,

and I know that she has more sympathy than I--and I have

considerable--with a scheme of life which entertains starving in a

garret for the sake of art or science as a meritorious contingency.

She has held up before her boys, since their earliest childhood, the

perils of idle and purely worldly living, and spurred them to make the

most of themselves.

Curiously enough, our two girls are just as dissimilar to each other as

Fred and David. Josie, the elder--who, as I have already specified,

is, according to the world at large, the image of her mother at the

same age--will not be troublesome in the least degree, so my wife tells

me. She has taken to society as a duck takes to water. She has a

natural aptitude for pleasing and being pleased; consequently she has

plenty of partners. My wife says that, considering the dear child was

all legs and arms three years ago, we have every reason to congratulate

ourselves that she has turned out such a pleasant-looking girl, and

that her red hair is decidedly ornamental. I call her handsome, but

Josephine declares that I make myself ridiculous by the assertion, and

that it is very rare that a girl who has not really a ray of beauty to

commend her becomes such a thorough-going favorite in her first season.

"She constantly reminds me of you, and that is enough for me," I

remarked, tenderly, on one occasion.

"You make me boil when you say that, Fred. I was really a very pretty

girl, if I do say it; whereas Josie, the sweet soul, only just escapes

being homely. Her smile and her hair save her, so that she passes.

But it is a libel to compare her with what I was at her age. We must

look facts in the face, dear."

"People tell me every day that she is the living image of her mother,"

I answered humbly.

"People are idiots. They know you will believe it because you are a

man. They don't dare tell me anything of the sort. No, Fred, we must

build all our hopes of beauty on Winona."

"Ah!" I remarked, with an intonation of pride; "even her mother will

not be able to pick a flaw in _her_."

"She is a very handsome girl, but----"

Josephine stopped short, and I could see that her lip was trembling

with emotion.

"There is no 'but,'" I protested. "Whatever Josie may be, Winona is a

raving beauty."

"Oh, yes, Fred, I am perfectly satisfied with her looks. That makes it

all the harder. I'm on tenterhooks lest she is going to be queer."

"Queer?" I inquired, with agitation, dreading some disclosure of mental

derangement.

"Odd--not like other people. It would break my heart, Fred. She is

seventeen, and she doesn't take the slightest interest in coming out.

You remember I had her appear for an hour at Josie's party, and that

she was surrounded by young men from the moment she entered the room

until I sent her to bed? Most girls would have been in danger of

having their heads turned. Winona was bored."

"She will get over that as soon as she is a year older. She is shy."

"She is not shy. If she were shy I should think nothing of it. She

declares that society is all nonsense, and that she wishes never to

come out at all."

"What an egregiously sensible girl," I murmured.

"I hope you will not encourage her, Fred," pleaded my darling. "I have

counted so much on her. If Josie had taken it into her head to be

queer, I shouldn't have said a word, for I think myself that is often

for a plain girl's happiness not to have to undergo the ordeal of being

neglected; but in the case of a beauty like Winona it would be such a

waste! There is not a girl of her age who compares with her in beauty."

"What is it she wishes to do?" I asked, with a knitted brow. A man is

apt to leave the management of his own daughters to his wife, even

though he is a philosopher and prolific in theories. I had rather

taken it for granted that certain advanced notions of mine regarding

the conduct of women's lives would be allowed to lie dormant in my

brain for lack of an animating cause, or, more accurately speaking, for

lack of moral courage on my part to exploit them for the benefit of my

own flesh and blood. It is more satisfactory to try experiments in the

line of education on some one else's children. Besides, I had argued

that Josephine was the proper person to propose a departure from the

established method, in conformity with which conclusion I had paid out

a handsome round sum for a coming-out party and a social wardrobe for

my eldest girl. But now I felt in conscience bound to prick up my ears.

"She doesn't know herself what she wishes to do," said my wife,

dejectedly. "She is daft on the subject of books and education."

"Is not that rather to her credit?" I ventured to inquire.

Josephine gazed at me as though my words had stung her.

"Of course it is to her credit," she replied, almost fiercely. "You

know perfectly well, Fred, I have encouraged the girls to study and

cultivate their minds in every conceivable manner, and that I have

always said they should have equal advantages in the way of education

with their brothers so far as it was possible to procure them. I have

just told you that if Josie had wished to be a student and to go in for

a career of some kind, I should have been perfectly willing; yes, I

should have been glad. But it does seem hard that they should change

places, and the one who is a radiant beauty, and sure to be universally

admired, should take it into her head to cut loose from society. I

remember saying when she was christened that we were gambling with

Divine Providence in giving her such an individualizing name, for fear

she would grow up a fright. I little thought I was running the risk of

such a contingency as this."

"It _is_ hard, Josephine," I murmured, wishing to be sympathetic. "I

think, though, you are a little premature in taking it for granted that

Winona will not come round all right in the end."

My darling shook her head. "She may consent to go about in order to

please me, but her heart will never be in it. Oh, I know!" she added,

with another outburst, as though she were arguing with an accusing

spirit, "that society is all very frivolous in theory and a waste of

time, and that the moralists and people who never had the chance to go

anywhere would tell me I ought to be thankful to have a daughter who

cares for something besides going to balls and dinner-parties and

flirting with young men. That's the way they would look at it; but

they might argue until they were black in the face and they couldn't

make me feel otherwise than disappointed. And, what is more, I believe

that Winona will be very sorry herself ten years hence if she

perseveres in her present determination."

These last words were spoken by my wife almost tragically, and it was

evident to me that they proceeded from the heart. I am free to confess

that when Josephine gives utterance to opinions with so much

earnestness as this I cannot help feeling that there must be more or

less truth in them. She may be no philosopher, but she is a sensible

woman. And especially in a matter where another woman, and one of her

own flesh and blood, besides, is concerned, it would certainly seem as

though she would be apt to be right. This whole business of the

emancipation of woman is one well adapted to drive a philosopher, to

say nothing of the father of a family, crazy. Naturally I wish my

daughters to become all that they ought to be. On the other hand, if a

paterfamilias cannot trust his better half on this particular subject,

he may as well imitate the example of certain savage tribes, and make

mince-meat of the girls. Perhaps I seem to be worked up on the

subject? Well, I am. The din of the moralists, and of the people who

have never had a chance to go anywhere, is in my ears, and I cannot get

altogether rid of it. Let us start afresh and attack the question from

another point of view.

There is no doubt, even to the average masculine mind, although the

possessor of the mind may not publish the fact on the house-tops, that

the most interesting product of this enlightened century is emancipated

woman. There are certain enthusiasts, though principally of the

emancipated sex, who are already so confident as to the rapid future

progress and ultimate glorious evolution of womankind that they are

ready to venture the prediction to people whom they think they can

trust, that sooner or later there will be no more men. Whether this

desirable result is to be brought about by the gradual extinction or

snuffing out of the hitherto sterner sex by a process of killing

kindness, or by the discovery of a system of generation whereby women

only will be procreated, is not foretold by these seers of the future;

accordingly, while one might not be warranted in dismissing the theory

as untenable, its fulfilment may fairly be regarded as a remote

expectancy, and consigned to the consideration of real philosophers.

There is no doubt, though, that woman has been kept down for

generations, and has only just begun to bob up serenely, to hazard a

coloquial metaphor. The eyes of civilization are upon her, and there

is legitimate curiosity from Christiania to Yokohama to discover what

she is going to do. To me as a philosopher, and taking into account

one consideration with another, including Josephine's plaint, it seems

as though woman would have much plainer sailing in her progress toward

reconstruction if it were not that she is so exceedingly good-looking

in spots and bunches. Let her distinction as an ornamental factor be

totally negatived and overcome, and there is no telling how rapidly she

might progress. By ornament, I mean, of course, not merely beauty of

face and form, but sweetness of speech, delicacy of physique and

sentiment, captivating clothes, and all those distinguishing

characteristics which have tended to fasten upon the female sex the

epithet of gentle. It will generally be admitted that women of homely

presence, clumsy in their gait, dowdy in their dress, and raucous in

their intonation, are much safer from the infliction of gallantries at

the hands or lips of mortal men than those whose attributes are more

pleasing; and it is safe to assert that many a male monster has been

rooted to his seat in street-cars by the coldly intellectual eye of

some not altogether able-bodied feminine person. The recent victories

all along the line of women over men in examination-rooms, and their

more or less successful ventures in the fields of law, medicine, and

newspaper enterprise, would be more appalling to man and encouraging to

the progressionists, but for the obstinate though obvious adhesion of

the great mass of woman-kind to the trick bequeathed to them by their

great-great-grandmothers of trying to look as well as they can. And

the terrible part of it is they succeed so wonderfully that

philosophers like myself are apt to find our ratiocinations wofully

mixed when we try to reason about the matter.

You remember, perhaps, that Josephine induced me earlier in our wedded

life to give a large party for her sister Julia? Within a year I have

submitted to a similar domestic upheaval on account of my elder

daughter, and I do not think that it can be said that I acquitted

myself in either case malignantly or even morosely. Indeed, though

this is not strictly relevant to the discussion, my wife informed me

after Josie's party was over that I had behaved like an angel. Now, my

sister-in-law, Julia, is still unmarried, and she cannot be far from

thirty. As I reflected at the time she came out, she is less comely

than my wife and not so sagacious, but she is decidedly an attractive

girl. She has had every advantage in the line of social

entertainments, and every opportunity to meet available young men. She

has waltzed all winter and been successively to Bar Harbor and Newport

in summer. She has been to Europe so as to let people forget her and

to reappear as a novelty, and she has altered the shape of her hair

twice to my individual observation. Yet somehow she hangs fire. I am

informed by Josephine, in strict confidence, that she has had offers

and might have been married to at least one eminently desirable man

before this had she seen fit to accept him; but I tell my darling that

though the consciousness of what might have been may be a legitimate

consolation to her and to her sister, it does not controvert the bald

fact that Julia is still unmarried at the end of ten years of social

divagations.

I do not mean that Julia may not marry. Very likely she will. She

certainly ought to if she has the desire; and she has time enough yet

if the right man only thinks so. It is rather on the system I am

pondering than on the individual, though the vision of Josie at thirty

unwedded, and a little hard and worn, haunts my retina and makes me

feel philosophical. Away down in the bottom of my boots or my soul, or

wherever a man can most safely harbor a secret reflection, has long

lain a feeling of wonder that the world continues to put its daintiest,

most cherished, and most carefully tended daughters through the

peculiar social programme in vogue. Is it not bewilderingly true that

every young woman of position and manners in Christendom, be her father

a Knight of the Garter or a Congressman, her mother an azure-blooded

countess or the ambitious better half of a retired grocer, finds on the

threshold of life only one course open to her if she desires to be

conventional, and to do what is naturally expected of her? From twelve

to eighteen instruction--and in these latter days exemplary

instruction--Latin, Greek, if there is a craving for it, history,

psychology, chemistry, political economy, to say nothing of the modern

languages and special courses in summer in botany, conchology, and

physiology. And then, dating from a long anticipated day, or rather

night, a metamorphosis startling as the transition of the cocoon; a

formal letting loose of the finished maiden on the polished parquet

floor of the social arena. Tra-la-la-la-la! Tra-la-la-la-la! Off she

whirls to the rythm of a Strauss waltz or a blood-stirring polka, and

for the next four years, on an average, she never stops, metaphorically

speaking. She may not always be waltzing or polkaing, but if she is

conventionally sound she is sure to be in a whirl. She exchanges

daylight for gaslight; her daily sustenance is stewed mushrooms with a

rich gray gravy, beef-tea, and ice-cream, varied by an occasional

mouthful of fillet as a conscience composer. All winter she

participates in a feverish round of balls, receptions, luncheons,

dinners, teas, theatre parties, with every now and then a wedding. All

summer she sails, floats, glides, sits, perches, sprawls, walks,

meanders, talks, climbs, rides, saunters, or dances madly as her mood

or circumstances suggest. There is her life, varying a little

according to clime and disposition, according to whether she is

daughter of a duke or of a successful grocer. It is what everyone

expects of her, so no one is surprised; and she is expected also to

keep up the pace until she is married, which is likely to come to pass

any day, but which, as in the case of poor Julia, may not be until she

is thirty. Fancy living on mushrooms with a rich gray gravy and

successively waltzing, meandering, or floating with the Tom, Dick, and

Harry of the workaday social world from eighteen to thirty! And yet we

fathers and philosophers ask ourselves why in thunder (or even more

vehemently) our daughters have nervous prostration. Why should they?

And yet I hear Josephine ask, for the discussion is uppermost in our

thoughts at the moment:

"Do you wish Winona to become a second Miss Jacket?"

Let me explain that Miss Jacket, Miss Cora Jacket, M.D., lives opposite

to us, and has for some months been a serious menace to the happiness

of Josephine, in that my wife declares that the wretch is poisoning our

Winona's mind. The charge startled me seriously when it was broached,

but I have been trying to consider dispassionately whether the injury

likely to be worked will be greater than that consequent upon a

continuous fare of mushrooms with rich gray gravy and flirtation.

Winona and Miss Cora Jacket, M.D., are certainly thicker than thieves;

hence a pardonable lurking suspicion in Josephine's mind that the older

woman is seeking to induce the beauty of our family to study medicine.

Dr. Jacket must be thirty--just about the age of my sister-in-law. To

me she appears to be a trig, energetic little woman, rather pretty and

rather well dressed, and though she seems intelligent there is nothing

especially frigid or forbidding in her eye. Its intellectuality is not

forced upon one. I have found her so attractive that I ventured to

insinuate, by way of answer to my wife's expostulation, that Winona

might do much worse than model herself on Miss Cora Jacket, M.D. This

drew upon my head the vial of Josephine's righteous wrath.

"Now, Fred, just stop and think for one moment," she said. "I have not

a word to say against Miss Jacket. I have no doubt she is a most

worthy young woman and an excellent physician, though I should never

care to consult her myself. But that is neither here nor there. Do

you happen to know what Miss Jacket's antecedents were, and what her

life has been?"