The Magnificent Ambersons - Booth Tarkington (top novels of all time TXT) 📗

George Amberson arrived with Lucy’s father on Class Day. Eugene had been in New York, on business; Amberson easily persuaded him to this outing; and they made a cheerful party of it, with the new graduate of course the hero and center of it all.

His uncle was a fellow alumnus. “Yonder was where I roomed when I was here,” he said, pointing out one of the university buildings to Eugene. “I don’t know whether George would let my admirers place a tablet to mark the spot, or not. He owns all these buildings now, you know.”

“Didn’t you, when you were here? Like uncle, like nephew.”

“Don’t tell George you think he’s like me. Just at this time we should be careful of the young gentleman’s feelings.”

“Yes,” said Eugene. “If we weren’t he mightn’t let us exist at all.”

“I’m sure I didn’t have it so badly at his age,” Amberson said reflectively, as they strolled on through the commencement crowd. “For one thing, I had brothers and sisters, and my mother didn’t just sit at my feet as George’s does; and I wasn’t an only grandchild, either. Father’s always spoiled Georgie a lot more than he did any of his own children.”

Eugene laughed. “You need only three things to explain all that’s good and bad about Georgie.”

“Three?”

“He’s Isabel’s only child. He’s an Amberson. He’s a boy.”

“Well, Mister Bones, of these three things which are the good ones and which are the bad ones?”

“All of them,” said Eugene.

It happened that just then they came in sight of the subject of their discourse. George was walking under the elms with Lucy, swinging a stick and pointing out to her various objects and localities which had attained historical value during the last four years. The two older men marked his gestures, careless and graceful; they observed his attitude, unconsciously noble, his easy proprietorship of the ground beneath his feet and round about, of the branches overhead, of the old buildings beyond, and of Lucy.

“I don’t know,” Eugene said, smiling whimsically. “I don’t know. When I spoke of his being a human being⁠—I don’t know. Perhaps it’s more like deity.”

“I wonder if I was like that!” Amberson groaned. “You don’t suppose every Amberson has had to go through it, do you?”

“Don’t worry! At least half of it is a combination of youth, good looks, and college; and even the noblest Ambersons get over their nobility and come to be people in time. It takes more than time, though.”

“I should say it did take more than time!” his friend agreed, shaking a rueful head.

Then they walked over to join the loveliest Amberson, whom neither time nor trouble seemed to have touched. She stood alone, thoughtful under the great trees, chaperoning George and Lucy at a distance; but, seeing the two friends approaching, she came to meet them.

“It’s charming, isn’t it!” she said, moving her black-gloved hand to indicate the summery dressed crowd strolling about them, or clustering in groups, each with its own hero. “They seem so eager and so confident, all these boys⁠—it’s touching. But of course youth doesn’t know it’s touching.”

Amberson coughed. “No, it doesn’t seem to take itself as pathetic, precisely! Eugene and I were just speaking of something like that. Do you know what I think whenever I see these smooth, triumphal young faces? I always think: ‘Oh, how you’re going to catch it’!”

“George!”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Life’s most ingenious: it’s got a special walloping for every mother’s son of ’em!”

“Maybe,” said Isabel, troubled⁠—“maybe some of the mothers can take the walloping for them.”

“Not one!” her brother assured her, with emphasis. “Not any more than she can take on her own face the lines that are bound to come on her son’s. I suppose you know that all these young faces have got to get lines on ’em?”

“Maybe they won’t,” she said, smiling wistfully. “Maybe times will change, and nobody will have to wear lines.”

“Times have changed like that for only one person that I know,” Eugene said. And as Isabel looked inquiring, he laughed, and she saw that she was the “only one person.” His implication was justified, moreover, and she knew it. She blushed charmingly.

“Which is it puts the lines on the faces?” Amberson asked. “Is it age or trouble? Of course we can’t decide that wisdom does it⁠—we must be polite to Isabel.”

“I’ll tell you what puts the lines there,” Eugene said. “Age puts some, and trouble puts some, and work puts some, but the deepest are carved by lack of faith. The serenest brow is the one that believes the most.”

“In what?” Isabel asked gently.

“In everything!”

She looked at him inquiringly, and he laughed as he had a moment before, when she looked at him that way. “Oh, yes, you do!” he said.

She continued to look at him inquiringly a moment or two longer, and there was an unconscious earnestness in her glance, something trustful as well as inquiring, as if she knew that whatever he meant it was all right. Then her eyes drooped thoughtfully, and she seemed to address some inquiries to herself. She looked up suddenly. “Why, I believe,” she said, in a tone of surprise, “I believe I do!”

And at that both men laughed. “Isabel!” her brother exclaimed. “You’re a foolish person! There are times when you look exactly fourteen years old!”

But this reminded her of her real affair in that part of the world. “Good gracious!” she said. “Where have the children got to? We must take Lucy pretty soon, so that George can go and sit with the class. We must catch up with them.”

She took her brother’s arm, and the three moved on, looking about them in the crowd.

“Curious,” Amberson remarked, as they did not immediately discover the young people they sought. “Even in such a concourse one would think we couldn’t fail to see the proprietor.”

“Several hundred proprietors today,” Eugene suggested.

“No; they’re only proprietors of the university,” said George’s uncle. “We’re looking for the proprietor of the universe.”

“There he is!” cried Isabel