Friendship's Claim.
"Harold, you are getting to be quite a little man. I'm afraid you'll be
one before I get my plans made for you. How would you like to go away
to that military academy that I spoke of?"
The boy's eyes flashed and he looked up at George Cadman with keenest
delight.
With the exception of deep-set eyes like Will's, he was the exact
miniature of Alma.
The three: George, Alma and Harold--were sitting at the supper table in
Alma's cozy dining-room.
Everything looked the same as when Will had left the home. It was true
that Alma was left penniless, but it was comparatively easy for George
to disguise the fact, and not until very lately did Alma learn that he
was supporting the home with its accustomed luxury.
With the knowledge came a feeling of intense shame. She had been so
thoughtless, leaving every business detail to George, and shutting
herself up to her own grief.
The last few days had been full of troubled thought. How could she do
anything at all to become independent, and yet bring Harold up in the
right atmosphere? There seemed no answer to this at all. She never
realized how perfectly helpless she was until now. Brought suddenly
face to face with real living, she found herself without a resource.
She wept tears over it, but that did not solve the problem.
She had determined tonight to talk to him about it, and beg him to show
her some way to help herself.
When George addressed Harold, she looked up in silent surprise. Just
when she was about to carry out her resolves, he was proposing new
obligations, which her boy was only too eager to accept.
"Dandy!" exclaimed Harold, with boyish enthusiasm. "You're a brick,
cousin George. Ain't he Mus?"
Alma laughed confusedly. "If a brick means someone wonderfully good and
kind, then he certainly is," she replied, looking smilingly from one to
the other. "But what would poor Mus do with her dear boy away?"
"I'll write heaps of letters, and then you have Cousin George, you
know," he returned confidently, "I'll never be a man, Mus, if I don't
go into the world a bit," he added with the gravity of ten years.
George and Alma laughed.
"Well, my boy, a man we must make of you, so I guess we'll have to win
Mus's consent, and persuade her to let me take good care of you."
Alma's blush made her look like her old self. Her pretty natural pink
and white attractiveness had never returned since Will's death. More
and more she dwelt upon his memory, and only her devotion to Harold
kept her from absolute retreat.
Edith Esterbrook brought her great comfort, and the girl's choicest
thoughts found fruitage in Alma's receptive nature. But nothing had
stifled Alma' remorse and useless longing to live again her life with
Will.
Supper over, Harold went to George and climbed up on his knee.
"Tell me all about the soldier place," he said coaxingly with wide
expectant eyes.
George stroked the dark curly head, and for half an hour explained the
life and doings of the academy.
Not once did he look toward Alma, who was regarding them intently.
Restlessly she was thinking of similar evenings when Will had held
their darling boy, and built all kinds of aircastles for his future
career.
George grew animated, as he gazed into the boy's excited face. His
strong affection for the child was reciprocated. Harold knew no time in
his short life, when Cousin Walter was not a shining light to guide his
boyish ambitions.
Finally the recital was over.
"Now boy, to bed; you have to sleep and grow, if you are going to be a
soldier!"
Harold threw two little arms around George's neck.
"Yep!! I've got to sleep a whole lot to grow to be a big man. I want to
be just like you."
George laughed.
"You must be an improvement on me, Harold. Every generation must strive
to be a little better than the last."
Harold looked puzzled. He dropped his hands before him, and twisted his
little fingers together in thought.
"What does generation mean?" he asked wonderingly.
"Generation? Well, let me see," replied George smiling down at him. "We
all come into the world at a different time, you know. If two men are
born at the same time, we say they belong to the same generation."
Harold sat earnestly thinking. Then he asked hesitatingly.
"Then do you and Mus belong to the same generation?"
He thought a moment again, then said vaguely, "But if you and Mus
belong to just the same generation, you must belong to one another."
"Wonderful child logic!" exclaimed George laughing.
"He tries so hard to reason, but his conclusions are usually
deplorable," remarked Alma, stretching out her hand to Harold with a
smile of indulgence.
Harold jumped down from George's lap, and ran to his mother's arms,
to receive the petting that he had not yet outgrown. So fond of his
mother, he was almost effeminate in his caresses of her.
George smiled gently as he watched them.
When Alma and he were alone in the library, he asked earnestly, "Alma,
can you think of anything that you would not do for Harold?"
"What a foolish question! Of course not," she replied, looking her
surprise.
"I am doubtful of your willingness to do one thing," he said gravely.
"I tell you there is nothing," she said fervently. "He is all that I
have now."
"Nothing? Absolutely nothing, Alma? Would you marry again,--someone who
would gladly lay his fortune at your feet, and care for you and the
child of his departed friend?"
Alma looked at him intently, and his meaning suddenly dawned upon her.
"Dear George," she said, and her voice trembled: "I believe that you
would sacrifice anything for Will's sake. What a friend you have been!"
she exclaimed gratefully.
"But you do not answer my question. Would you allow such a friend to
have the only satisfaction in his life?"
She looked at him frankly, unabashed.
"No, George, I would not allow such a man as you to give his life for
poor, broken-hearted me. Some other woman will surely give heart for
heart, and awaken all the glorious love of your perfect manhood," she
replied earnestly.
"Alma, it may surprise you to know that my heart is as broken a reed
as yours. I have nothing to offer you, except what you can give in
return--a lasting friendship. You have loved and lost, so have I. In
the losing, you have learned to love the lost one more deeply than
before. So have I. It is friendship for friendship, dear girl, and
marriage vows for the world's good opinion and our dear Harold's
future."
"You have loved and lost, George? You? Irrevocably lost,--are you sure?"
"Most irrevocably," he returned grimly. "Her marriage to another makes
it even a forbidden hope."
"O, George, how strangely the world adjusts things! I have always
dreamed of you being possessed with every earthly joy. You of all men
deserve it!" she exclaimed.
"Then give me what is possible, Alma. To do for you and Harold would
give me much joy in life, and help me to overcome a living death!" he
said earnestly.
"You have suffered so, then?" she asked tenderly, placing her hand on
his, affectionately.
"More than seems bearable at times. Will we help one another, Alma? For
Harold's sake--will you?"
His fine eyes were eloquently persuasive. She met and seemed to lose
what little resisting power she possessed.
"I will, George," she replied simply.
George leaned forward and reverently kissed her brow. Then he held her
in his arms protectingly.
"What will Harold say?" said Alma, with a happy thought at the boy's
delight.
"He will be satisfied that we belong to the same generation," replied
George.