Spring had come. The silvery air was soft with promises of leaf and bud.
Invitation to Festival and Adventure was in the gold-flecked sunlight.
Nature stood on tiptoe, ready for carnival, waiting for the opening
measures of the ecstatic music of life's renewal.
The remote stillness of the great library had given place to the faint
sounds of the vernal world. A robin preened himself at an open casement,
cast a calculating eye at the priceless art treasures of the place,
scorned them as useless for his needs, and fluttered away to an antique
marble bench in the walled garden, wherefrom he might watch for worms,
or hop to the Greek sarcophagus and take a bath in accumulated
rainwater.
Marcus Gard, outwardly his determined, unbending self again, sat before
his laden table, slave as ever to his tasks. Nine strokes chimed from
the Gothic clock in the hall; already his busy day had begun.
Denning entered unannounced, as was his special privilege, and stood for
a moment in silence, looking at his friend. Gard acknowledged his
presence with a cordial nod, and continued to glance over and sign the
typewritten notes before him. At last he put down his pen and settled
back in his chair.
"Well, old friend, how goes it?" he inquired, smiling.
Denning nodded. "Fine, thank you. I thought I'd find you here. I was in
consultation with Langley last night, and we have decided we are in a
position now to go ahead as we first planned over a year ago. The
opposition in Washington has been deflected. Besides, Langley dug up a
point of law."
Gard rose and crossed to Denning. His manner was quietly conversational,
and he twirled his _pince-nez_ absently.
"My dear man," he said slowly, "you will have to adjust yourself to a
shock. We will stick to the understanding as expressed in our interviews
of last February, whether Mr. Langley has dug up a point of law or not.
In short, Denning, we are not in future doing business in the old way."
"But you don't understand," gasped the other. "Langley says that it lets
us completely out. They can't attack us under that ruling--can't you
see?"
"Quite so--yes. I can imagine the situation perfectly. But we entered
into certain obligations--understandings, if you will--and we are going
to live up to them, whether we could climb out of them or not."
Denning sat down heavily.
"Well, I'll be--Why, it's no different from our position in the river
franchise matter, not in the least--and we did pretty well with that, as
you know."
Gard nodded. "Yes, we are practically in the same position, as you say.
The position is the same--but _we_ are different. I suppose you've heard
a number of adages concerning the irresponsibility of corporations?
Well, we are going to change all that. I fancy you have already noticed
a different method in our mercantile madness, and you will notice it
still more in the future."
Denning pulled his mustache violently, a token with him of complete
bewilderment.
"H'm--er--exactly," he murmured. "Of course, if that's the way you feel
now--and you have your reasons, I suppose--I'll call Langley up. He'll
be horribly disappointed, though. He's pluming himself on landing this
quick getaway for you. He's been staking out the whole plan."
Gard chuckled. "Do you remember, Denning, how hard you worked to make me
go to Washington--and how my 'duty to our stockholders' was your
favorite weapon? Where has all that noble enthusiasm gone--eh?"
Denning blushed. "But we were in a very dangerous hole. Things are
different now."
"Yes," said Gard with finality, "they are--don't forget it."
"Well," and Denning rose, discomfited, "I'm going. Three o'clock, Gard,
the directors' meeting. I'll see you then."
He shook hands and turned to the door, paused, turned again as if to
reopen the subject, checked himself and went out.
As the door closed Gard chuckled. "I bet he's cracking his skull to find
out my game," he thought with amusement. "By the time he reaches the
office, he'll have worked it out that I'm more far-sighted than the rest
of them, and am making character; that I'm trying to do business by the
Ten Commandments will never occur to him." He returned to the table and
resumed his task, paused and sat gazing absently at the contorted
inkwells.
His secretary entered quietly, a sheaf of letters in his hand.
"Saunders," said Marcus Gard, not raising his eyes from their absorbed
contemplation, "did you ever let yourself imagine how hard it is to do
business in a strictly honest manner, when the whole world seems to have
lost the habit--if it ever _had_ the habit?"
Saunders looked puzzled. "I don't know, sir. Mr. Mahr is in the hall and
wants to see you," he added, glad to change the subject.
"Is he? Good. Tell him to come in." Gard rose with cordial welcome as
Teddy entered.
There was an air of responsibility about the younger man, calmness,
observation and concentration, very different from his former
light-hearted, easy-mannered boyishness. Gard's greeting was
affectionate. "Well, boy, what brings you out so early? Taking your
responsibilities seriously? And in what can I help you?"
Teddy blushed. "Mr. Gard," he said, hurrying his words with
embarrassment, "I wish you'd let me _give_ you the Vandyke--please do. I
don't want to _sell_ it to you. Duveen's men are bringing it over to you
this morning; they are on their way now. I want you to have it. I--I--"
He looked up and gazed frankly in the older man's face, unashamed of the
mist of tears that blinded him. "I know father would want you to have
it. And I know, Mr. Gard, what you did to shield his memory. If you
hadn't gone to Field--if you hadn't taken the matter in charge--" He
choked and broke off. "I don't _know_ anything--but you handled the
situation as I could not. Please--won't you take the Vandyke?"
Gard's hand fell on the boy's shoulder with impressive kindliness. "No,"
he said quietly, "I can't do that, much as I appreciate your wanting to
give it to me. I have a sentiment, a feeling about that picture. It
isn't the collector's passion--I want it to remind me daily of certain
things, things that you'd think I'd want to forget--but not I. I want
that picture 'In Memoriam'--that's why I asked you to let me have it;
and I want it by purchase. Don't question my decision any more, Teddy.
You'll find a cheque at your office, that's all." He turned and
indicated a space on the velvet-hung wall, where a reflector and
electric lights had been installed. "It's to hang there, Teddy, where I
can see it as I sit. It is to dominate my life--how much you can never
guess. Will you stay with me now, and help me to receive it?"
Teddy was obviously disappointed. "I can't--I'm sorry. I ought to be at
the office now; but I did so want to make one last appeal to you.
Anyway, Mr. Gard, your cheque will go to enrich the Metropolitan
purchase fund."
"That's no concern of mine," Gard laughed. "You can't make me the donor,
you know. How is Dorothy--to change the subject!"
"What she always is," the boy beamed, "the best and sweetest. My, but
I'm glad she is back! And Mrs. Marteen, she's herself again. You've seen
them, of course?"