Oliver Pickersgill Senior turned his swivel-chair about, bit hard on the
end of his cigar, and stared at his only son.
'What's that?' he said abruptly. 'Say that again.'
Oliver Junior winced, not so much at the words as at his father's face.
'I want to marry Ruth Lannithorne,' he repeated steadily.
There was a silence. The elder Pickersgill looked at his son long and
hard from under lowered brows. Oliver had never seen his father look at
him like that before: as if he were a rank outsider, some detached
person whose doings were to be scrutinized coldly and critically, and
judged on their merits. It is a hard hour for a beloved child when he
first sees that look in heretofore indulgent parental eyes. Young Oliver
felt a weight at his heart, but he sat the straighter, and did not
flinch before the appraising glance.
'So you want to marry Peter Lannithorne's daughter, do you? Well, now
what is there in the idea of marrying a jail-bird's child that you find
especially attractive?'
'Of course I might say that I've seen something of business men in this
town, Ross, say, and Worcester, and Jim Stone, and that if it came to a
choice between their methods and Lannithorne's, his were the squarer,
for he settled up, and is paying the price besides. But I don't know
that there's any use saying that. I don't want to marry any of their
daughters--and you wouldn't want me to. You know what Ruth Lannithorne
is as well as I do. If there's a girl in town that's finer-grained, or
smarter, or prettier, I'd like to have you point her out! And she has a
sense of honor like a man's. I don't know another girl like her in that.
She knows what's fair,' said the young man.
Mr. Pickersgill's face relaxed a little. Oliver was making a good
argument with no mushiness about it, and he had a long-settled habit of
appreciating Ollie's arguments.
'She knows what's fair, does she? Then what does she say about marrying
you?'
'She says she won't marry anybody who doesn't respect her father as she
does!'
At this the parent grinned a little, grimly it is true, but
appreciatively. He looked past Oliver's handsome, boyish head, out of
the window, and was silent for a time. When he spoke, it was gravely,
not angrily.
'Oliver, you're young. The things I'm as sure of as two and two, you
don't yet believe at all. Probably you won't believe 'em if I put them
to you, but it's up to me to do it. Understand, I'm not getting angry
and doing the heavy father over this. I'm just telling you how some
things are in this world,--facts, like gravitation and atmospheric
pressure. Ruth Lannithorne is a good girl, I don't doubt. This world is
chuck full of good girls. It makes _some_ difference which one of 'em
you marry, but not nearly so much difference as you think it does. What
matters, from forty on, for the rest of your life, is the kind of
inheritance you've given your children. You don't know it yet, but the
thing that's laid on men and women to do is to give their children as
good an inheritance as they can. Take it from me that this is Gospel
truth, can't you? Your mother and I have done the best we can for you
and your sisters. You come from good stock, and by that I mean honest
blood. You've got to pass it on untainted. Now--hold on!' he held up a
warning hand as Oliver was about to interrupt hotly. 'Wait till I'm
through--and then think it over. I'm not saying that Peter Lannithorne's
blood isn't as good as much that passes for untainted, or that Ruth
isn't a fine girl. I'm only telling you this: when first you look into
your son's face, every failing of your own will rise up to haunt you
because you will wish for nothing on God's earth so much as that that
boy shall have a fair show in life and be a better man than you. You
will thank Heaven for every good thing you know of in your blood and in
your wife's, and you will regret every meanness, every weakness, that he
may inherit, more than you knew it was in you to regret anything. Do you
suppose when that hour comes to you that you'll want to remember his
grandfather was a convict? How will you face that down?'
Young Oliver's face was pale. He had never thought of things like this.
He made no response for a while. At last he asked,--
'What kind of a man is Peter Lannithorne?'
'Eh? What kind of--? Oh, well, as men go, there have been worse ones.
You know how he came to get sent up. He speculated, and he borrowed some
of another man's money without asking, for twenty-four hours, to protect
his speculation. He didn't lose it, either! There's a point where his
case differs from most. He pulled the thing off and made enough to keep
his family going in decent comfort, and he paid the other money back;
but they concluded to make an example of him, so they sent him up. It
was just, yes, and he said so himself. At the same time there are a
great many more dishonest men out of prison than Peter Lannithorne,
though he is in it. I meet 'em every day, and I ought to know. But
that's not the point. As you said yourself, you don't want to marry
their daughters. Heaven forbid that you should! You want to marry his
daughter. And he was weak. He was tempted and fell--and got found out.
He is a convict, and the taint sticks. The Lord knows why the stain of
unsuccessful dishonesty should stick longer than the stain of successful
dishonesty. I don't. But we know it does. That is the way things are.
Why not marry where there is no taint?'
'Father--?'
'Yes, Ollie.'
'Father, see here. He was weak and gave way--_once_! Are there any men
in the world who haven't given way at least _once_ about something or
other?--are there, father?'
There was a note of anguish in the boy's voice. Perhaps he was being
pushed too far. Oliver Pickersgill Senior cleared his throat, paused,
and at last answered sombrely,--
'God knows, Ollie. I don't. I won't say there are.'
'Well, then--'
'See here!' his father interrupted sharply. 'Of course I see your
argument. I won't meet it. I shan't try. It doesn't change my mind even
if it is a good argument. We'll never get anywhere, arguing along those
lines. I'll propose something else. Suppose you go ask Peter Lannithorne
whether you shall marry his daughter or not. Yes, ask him. He knows
what's what as well as the next man. Ask Peter Lannithorne what a man
wants in the family of the woman he marries.'
There was a note of finality in the older man's voice. Ollie recognized
it drearily. All roads led to Lannithorne, it seemed. He rose, oppressed
with the sense that henceforward life was going to be full of unforeseen
problems; that things which, from afar, looked simple, and easy, and
happy, were going to prove quite otherwise. Mrs. Lannithorne had angered
rather than frightened him, and he had held his own with her; but this
was his very own father who was piling the load on his shoulders and
filling his heart with terror of the future. What was it, after all,
this adventure of the married life whereof these seasoned travelers
spoke so dubiously? Could it really be that it was not the divine thing
it seemed when he and Ruth looked into each other's eyes?
He crossed the floor dejectedly, with the step of an older man, but at
the door he shook himself and looked back.
'Say, dad!'
'Yes, Ollie.'
'Everybody is so terribly depressing about this thing, it almost scares
me. Aren't there really any happy times for married people, ever? You
and Mrs. Lannithorne make me feel there aren't; but somehow I have a
hunch that Ruth and I know best! Own up now! Are you and mother
miserable? You never looked it!'
His father surveyed him with an expression too wistful to be complacent.
Ah, those broad young shoulders that must be fitted to the yoke! Yet for
what other end was their strength given them? Each man must take his
turn.
'It's not a soft snap. I don't know anything worth while that is. But
there are compensations. You'll see what some of them are when your boys
begin to grow up.'