RECONCILIATION.
"Mr. Jarrod" said Jim when he went to work next morning, "father's
here."
"I've just been to call upon him," returned the lawyer, looking
steadily at the young man; "but you haven't."
Jim flushed.
"Does he know I'm here?" he asked, hesitatingly.
"I told him. He didn't know it until then. Your mother and Nellie and
May are all delighted and eager to see you."
"And father?"
"He did not express himself as glad or sorry. You've offended him
deeply, Jim."
The boy thrust his hands into his pockets and looked thoughtful.
"I'd like to see mother," he said, musingly. "She's as tender and
sweet as any mother can be, Mr. Jarrod; but the poor dear is entirely
under my father's thumb, and even his frown terrifies her."
"Hm," said the lawyer. "I thought that kind of wives became extinct
years ago."
"Mother's the old-fashioned sort, sir. And the girls are all right, in
their way--for sisters. But dad has a dreadful temper, and when he gets
on his high horse all I can do is to jaw back."
"No two in a family should try to ride the high horse at the same
time," observed Jarrod; "and you must remember that the head of the
house controls the stables. He's sick, Jim, and his pain makes him
crabbed. Why not try to bear with him, and be friendly?"
"That's what Susie says. Perhaps I really ought to go up to the cottage
and call."
"There's no question about it. Go now."
Jim hesitated.
"I said I'd never darken his doors again, you know," he intimated,
weakly.
"These are not his doors. It's Grant's cottage."
"So it is. Well, I'll go."
He pulled his hat down over his ears desperately, buttoned his coat in
spite of the heat, and with tense muscles but trembling lips marched up
the hill to the Grant cottage.
Before he could knock the door flew open and he was in his mother's
arms. The poor lady was sobbing with joy, and led her errant son into
the room where his father sat propped with cushions in an easy chair.
"Here's Jim!" she said, trembling with uncertainty and a well founded
fear of the interview to follow.
Mr. Everton looked at his boy and nodded.
"Sit down, Jim," he said. The tone was not harsh, but lacked cordiality.
Jim sat down.
"How are you, sir?"
"Pretty bad. I don't seem to find any relief."
Once Jim had wickedly suggested that he take his own rheumatism cure;
but the remark had led to all their trouble, so he twirled his hat and
answered perfunctorily:
"I'm sorry, sir."
Such mildness of demeanor ought to have placated the father. But
Everton was eyeing his son suspiciously.
"They tell me you're working. A lawyer's clerk."
"I'm Mr. Jarrod's private secretary, sir."
"Huh! Good job for a college man, isn't it? Nice investment I made when
I sent you to Cornell."
Jim wondered what he would say if he knew he had until recently been a
dry-goods clerk.
"Haven't you had about enough of this two-penny folly?" demanded his
father, more harshly.
"Oh, I've discovered that I can earn my own living," said the boy,
flushing.
"That isn't the point. I reared you with the expectation that you would
be of some use to me when I grew old and feeble. That time has arrived.
I need you to help look after the business. Look here: do you owe
nothing to me?"
Jim examined the pattern on the rug.
"Just as much as I owe myself, sir. Surely not more."
"Then pay your obligation to me first, and you can do as you please
afterward."
"All right. That's fair."
His mother, who sat beside him silently holding his hand, hugged him
again, and even Mr. Everton seemed pleased by the frank answer.
"You jeered at the business once, and called it a--a fake!" resumed
the elder man, somewhat bitterly; "but it's nothing of the sort. Every
one of the Everton Remedies is prepared according to the formula of a
skillful physician, and they've helped lots of suffering people. Is not
my name highly respected? Answer me!"
"I think it is."
"Very well. You shall be my assistant and have an interest in the
business. I'll allow you ten thousand a year."
"Good!" said Jim, brightening suddenly. "Then I can get married."
"Oh, Jim!" cried his mother.
"To whom, sir?" asked his father.
"Why, to Susie. Perhaps you haven't heard of her. She's a girl I met at
Tamawaca."
"What's her other name?"
"Smith. Susie Smith," dwelling on it lovingly.
"Smith! Well, who is she?"
"The sweetest girl in all the world, sir."
"Bah! Who are her people? Where does she come from?"
"I don't know."
"Nonsense."
"I haven't asked about her family. Why should I, when she's all right
herself? She's stopping with Mr. Carleton--W. E. Carleton, the railway
contractor. He says he knows you."
"Well?"
"Susie lives in New York, I think, or some Eastern city. Her mother is
dead but her father is still on deck--I'm positive of that, for she
often speaks of him."
"What does he do?"
"Can't imagine, I'm sure."
"Jim, you're a fool--a doddering imbecile!"
"All right."
"Oh, Henry--please don't quarrel!" exclaimed Mrs. Everton, beginning
to weep anew.
But the invalid was suffering twinges and would not be stayed.
"You'll have to give up that girl for good and all," he roared. "Susie
Smith! Some cheap stenographer or a paid companion to Mrs. Carleton, I
suppose. Some designing hussy who thinks you'll have money, and wants
to get her clutches on it. Susie Smith! For heaven's sake, Jim, why
can't you have a little sense?"
Jim got up, slowly and with a white face.
"Father, I don't know much about Susie except that I love her and mean
to marry her. And I won't have you sneer at her, even if you are ill
and bad tempered. You have no reason to say a word against her."
"Smith!"
"I know," a smile creeping over his face to soften its fierceness; "but
I'll change that name, pretty soon. Susie Everton isn't so bad, is it?"
"Give her up, Jim. Don't let her come between us."
"She's there, Dad, and you can't thrust her away."
"Give her up."
"I won't!"
Mrs. Everton was sobbing softly. The invalid turned on his cushions
with a sigh. But his jaws were closed tight and his brow bent to a
frown. Jim had quite regained his composure.
"I hope you'll soon get better, sir," he remarked. "I shall be in
Tamawaca for some weeks yet, and if I can be of any help in any way,
let me know. Good bye, mother."
As he turned to go the door burst open and Nellie and May dashed in
and threw themselves upon their brother with glad cries and smothering
kisses. They were bright, pretty girls, and Jim loved them and was
proud of them.
"Is it all made up, Jim?" asked Nell, anxiously.
"Not quite, little sister," smiling at her.
"Oh, but it must be! It's all wrong, dear, for us to be separated this
way. Tell him so, father!" turning appealingly to the invalid.
"He refused my overtures," said Mr. Everton, testily.
"Oh, no!" laughed Jim; "he refused my sweetheart."
The girls clapped their hands gleefully.
"We've heard all about it, in the town," said one. "Oh, Jim, you lucky
boy!"
"And whom do you think it is, Dad?" asked the other eagerly, as she
seated herself beside her father's chair.
"I don't know; and Jim don't know."
"But _we_ know! She's an old friend of ours. We knew her at Wellesley,
and we've just called upon her and kissed her and hugged her for old
times' sake. Father, it's Susie Smith!"
"Smith!" with a snort of contempt.
"The only, only child of the great Agamemnon Smith, the richest
Standard Oil magnate after Rockefeller himself!"
Jim fell into a chair and stared at his father. His father stared at
him.
"And that isn't all," said May, gushingly. "Susie's as lovely as she is
rich--the sweetest, cutest, brightest and cunningest little thing that
ever lived."
"To think that Susie Smith will be our sister!" cried Nell, clasping
her hands ecstatically.
"And--and--Jim can change that name of Smith, you know," faltered poor
Mrs. Everton, glancing at her husband nervously.
The invalid roused himself and looked up with a smile.
"So he can," he observed, drily. "Hang up your hat, Jim, and let's talk
it over."
Jim hung up his hat.