"Nothing. Jeff Durgin has asked me to marry him."
"He has!" The New England training is not such as to fit people for the
expression of strong emotion, and the best that Whitwell found himself
able to do in view of the fact was to pucker his mouth for a whistle
which did not come.
"Yes--this afternoon," said Cynthia, lifelessly. The tension of her
nerves relaxed in a languor which was evident even to her father, though
his eyes still wandered to the sheet she had taken from him.
"Well, you don't seem over and above excited about it. Did--did
your--What did you say--"
"How should I know what I said? What do you think of it, father?"
"I don't know as I ever give the subject much attention," said the
philosopher. "I always meant to take it out of him, somehow, if he got to
playin' the fool."
"Then you wanted I should accept him?"
"What difference 'd it make what I wanted? That what you done?"
"Yes, I've accepted him," said the girl, with a sigh. "I guess I've
always expected to."
"Well, I thought likely it would come to that, myself. All I can say,
Cynthy, is 't he's a lucky feller."
Whitwell leaned back, bracing his knees against the table, which was one
of his philosophic poses. "I have sometimes believed that Jeff Durgin was
goin' to turn out a blackguard. He's got it in him. He's as like his
gran'father as two peas, and he was an old devil. But you got to account
in all these here heredity cases for counteractin' influences. The
Durgins are as good as wheat, right along, all of 'em; and I guess Mis'
Durgin's mother must have been a pretty good woman too. Mis' Durgin's all
right, too, if she has got a will of her own." Whitwell returned from his
scientific inquiry to ask: "How 'll she take it?"
"I don't know," said Cynthia, dreamily, but without apparent misgiving.
"That's Jeff's lookout."
"So 'tis. I guess she won't make much fuss. A woman never likes to see
her son get married; but you've been a kind of daughter to her so long.
Well, I guess that part of it 'll be all right. Jackson," said Whitwell,
in a tone of relief, as if turning from an irrelevant matter to something
of real importance, "was down here to-night tryin' to ring up some them
spirits from the planet Mars. Martians, he calls 'em. His mind's got to
runnin' a good deal on Mars lately. I guess it's this apposition that
they talk about that does it. Mars comin' so much nearer the earth by a
million of miles or so, it stands to reason that he should be more
influenced by the minds on it. I guess it's a case o' that telepathy that
Mr. Westover tells about. I judge that if he kept at it before Mars gits
off too far again he might make something out of it. I couldn't seem to
find much sense in what plantchette done to-night; we couldn't either of
us; but she has her spells when you can't make head or tail of her. But
mebbe she's just leadin' up to something, the way she did about that
broken shaft when Jeff come home. We ha'n't ever made out exactly what
she meant by that yet."
Whitwell paused, and Cynthia seized the advantage of his getting round to
Jeff again. "He wanted to give up going to Harvard this last year, but I
wouldn't let him."
"Jeff did?" asked her father. "Well, you done a good thing that time,
anyway, Cynthy. His mother 'd never get over it."
"There's something else she's got to get over, and I don't know how she
ever will. He's going to give up the law."
"Give up the law!"
"Yes. Don't tease, father! He says he's never cared about it, and he
wants to keep a hotel. I thought that I'd ought to tell him how we felt
about Jackson's having a rest and going off somewhere; and he wanted to
begin at once. But I said if he left off the last year at Harvard I
wouldn't have anything to do with him."
Whitwell put his hand in his pocket for his knife, and mechanically
looked down for a stick to whittle. In default of any, he scratched his
head. "I guess she'll make it warm for him. She's had her mind set on his
studyin' law so long, 't she won't give up in a hurry. She can't see that
Jackson ain't fit to help her run the hotel any more--till he's had a
rest, anyway--and I believe she thinks her and Frank could run it--and
you. She'll make an awful kick," said Whitwell, solemnly. "I hope you
didn't encourage him, Cynthy?"
"I should encourage him," said the girl. "He's got the right to shape his
own life, and nobody else has got the right to do it; and I should tell
his mother so, if she ever said anything to me about it."
"All right," said Whitwell. "I suppose you know what you're about."
"I do, father. Jeff would make a good landlord; he's got ideas about a
hotel, and I can see that they're the right ones. He's been out in the
world, and he's kept his eyes open. He will make Lion's Head the best
hotel in the mountains."
"It's that already."
"He doesn't think it's half as good as he can make it."
"It wouldn't be half what it is now, if it wa'n't for you and Frank."
"I guess he understands that," said Cynthia. "Frank would be the clerk."
"Got it all mapped out!" said Whitwell, proudly, in his turn. "Look out
you don't slip up in your calculations. That's all."
"I guess we cha'n't slip up."