The Rise Of Silas Lapham By William Dean Howells Part 1 - William Dean Howells (best e reader for academics txt) 📗

Pg 49

Set? So Close To Him,  And Yet Free--Kind Of Peeling away

At The Lapels?"

 

"Yes,  I Should Say He Was A Young Man Of Great Judgment.

He Knows How To Choose His Tailor."

 

Irene Sat Down On The Edge Of A Chair.  "It Was So Nice

Of You,  Pen,  To Come In,  That Way,  About Clubs."

 

"Oh,  I Didn'T Mean Anything by It Except Opposition,"

Said Penelope.  "I Couldn'T Have Father Swelling on So,

Without Saying something."

 

"How He Did Swell!" Sighed irene.  "Wasn'T It A Relief

To Have Mamma Come Down,  Even If She Did Seem To Be All

Stocking at First?"

 

The Girls Broke Into A Wild Giggle,  And Hid Their Faces

In Each Other'S Necks.  "I Thought I Should Die,"

Said Irene.

 

"'It'S Just Like Ordering a Painting,'" Said Penelope,

Recalling her Father'S Talk,  With An Effect Of Dreamy

Absent-Mindedness. "'You Give The Painter Money Enough,

And He Can Afford To Paint You A First-Class Picture.

Give An Architect Money Enough,  And He'Ll Give You A

First-Class House,  Every Time.'"

 

"Oh,  Wasn'T It Awful!" Moaned her Sister.  "No One Would

Ever Have Supposed that He Had Fought The Very Idea

Of An Architect For Weeks,  Before He Gave In."

 

Penelope Went On.  "'I Always Did Like The Water Side

Of Beacon,--Long Before I Owned property There.

When You Come To The Back Bay At All,  Give Me The Water

Side Of Beacon.'"

 

"Ow-W-W-W!" Shrieked irene.  "Do Stop!"

 

The Door Of Their Mother'S Chamber Opened below,

And The Voice Of The Real Colonel Called,  "What Are You

Doing up There,  Girls? Why Don'T You Go To Bed?"

 

This Extorted nervous Shrieks From Both Of Them.

The Colonel Heard A Sound Of Scurrying feet,  Whisking drapery,

And Slamming doors.  Then He Heard One Of The Doors

Opened again,  And Penelope Said,  "I Was Only Repeating

Something you Said When You Talked to Mr. Corey."

 

"Very Well,  Now," Answered the Colonel.  "You Postpone

The Rest Of It Till To-Morrow At Breakfast,  And See

That You'Re Up In time To Let Me Hear It."

 

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At The Same Moment Young Corey Let Himself In at His Own Door

With His Latch-Key,  And Went To The Library,  Where He Found

His Father Turning the Last Leaves Of A Story In the Revue

Des Deux Mondes.  He Was A White-Moustached old Gentleman,

Who Had Never Been Able To Abandon His Pince-Nez For The

Superior Comfort Of Spectacles,  Even In the Privacy Of His

Own Library.  He Knocked the Glasses Off As His Son Came

In And Looked up At Him With Lazy Fondness,  Rubbing the

Two Red marks That They Always Leave On The Side Of The Nose.

 

"Tom," He Said,  "Where Did You Get Such Good Clothes?"

 

"I Stopped over A Day In new York," Replied the Son,

Finding himself A Chair.  "I'M Glad You Like Them."

 

"Yes,  I Always Do Like Your Clothes,  Tom," Returned the

Father Thoughtfully,  Swinging his Glasses,  "But I Don'T

See How You Can Afford 'Em,  I Can'T."

 

"Well,  Sir," Said The Son,  Who Dropped the "Sir" Into

His Speech With His Father,  Now And Then,  In an Old-

Fashioned way That Was Rather Charming,  "You See,

I Have An Indulgent Parent."

 

"Smoke?" Suggested the Father,  Pushing toward His Son

A Box Of Cigarettes,  From Which He Had Taken One.

 

"No,  Thank You," Said The Son.  "I'Ve Dropped that."

 

"Ah,  Is That So?" The Father Began To Feel About On The

Table For Matches,  In the Purblind Fashion Of Elderly Men.

His Son Rose,  Lighted one,  And Handed it To Him.

"Well,--Oh,  Thank You,  Tom!--I Believe Some Statisticians

Prove That If You Will Give Up Smoking you Can Dress

Very Well On The Money Your Tobacco Costs,  Even If You

Haven'T Got An Indulgent Parent.  But I'M Too Old To Try.

Though,  I Confess,  I Should Rather Like The Clothes.

Whom Did You Find At The Club?"

 

"There Were A Lot Of Fellows There," Said Young Corey,

Watching the Accomplished fumigation Of His Father In an

Absent Way.

 

"It'S Astonishing what A Hardy Breed the Young Club-Men Are,"

Observed his Father.  "All Summer Through,  In weather

That Sends The Sturdiest Female Flying to The Sea-Shore,

You Find The Clubs Filled with Young Men,  Who Don'T Seem

To Mind The Heat In the Least."

 

"Boston Isn'T A Bad Place,  At The Worst,  In summer,"

Said The Son,  Declining to Take Up The Matter In its

Ironical Shape. 

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"I Dare Say It Isn'T,  Compared with Texas," Returned the

Father,  Smoking tranquilly On.  "But I Don'T Suppose

You Find Many Of Your Friends In town Outside Of The Club."

 

"No; You'Re Requested to Ring at The Rear Door,  All The

Way Down Beacon Street And Up Commonwealth Avenue.

It'S Rather A Blank Reception For The Returning prodigal."

 

"Ah,  The Prodigal Must Take His Chance If He Comes Back

Out Of Season.  But I'M Glad To Have You Back,  Tom,

Even As It Is,  And I Hope You'Re Not Going to Hurry Away.

You Must Give Your Energies A Rest."

 

"I'M Sure You Never Had To Reproach Me With Abnormal Activity,"

Suggested the Son,  Taking his Father'S Jokes In good Part.

 

"No,  I Don'T Know That I Have," Admitted the Elder.

"You'Ve Always Shown A Fair Degree Of Moderation,  After All.

What Do You Think Of Taking up Next? I Mean After You

Have Embraced your Mother And Sisters At Mount Desert.

Real Estate? It Seems To Me That It Is About Time For You

To Open Out As A Real-Estate Broker.  Or Did You Ever Think

Of Matrimony?"

 

"Well,  Not Just In that Way,  Sir," Said The Young Man.

"I Shouldn'T Quite Like To Regard It As A Career,

You Know."

 

"No,  No.  I Understand That.  And I Quite Agree With You.

But You Know I'Ve Always Contended that The Affections

Could Be Made To Combine Pleasure And Profit.  I Wouldn'T

Have A Man Marry For Money,--That Would Be Rather Bad,--But

I Don'T See Why,  When It Comes To Falling in love,

A Man Shouldn'T Fall In love With A Rich Girl As Easily

As A Poor One.  Some Of The Rich Girls Are Very Nice,

And I Should Say That The Chances Of A Quiet Life With Them

Were Rather Greater.  They'Ve Always Had Everything,

And They Wouldn'T Be So Ambitious And Uneasy.  Don'T You

Think So?"

 

"It Would Depend," Said The Son,  "Upon Whether A Girl'S

People Had Been Rich Long Enough To Have Given Her Position

Before She Married.  If They Hadn'T,  I Don'T See How She

Would Be Any Better Than A Poor Girl In that Respect."

 

"Yes,  There'S Sense In that.  But The Suddenly Rich

Are On A Level With Any Of Us Nowadays.  Money Buys

Position At Once.  I Don'T Say That It Isn'T All Right.

The World Generally Knows What It'S About,  And Knows

How To Drive A Bargain.  I Dare Say It Makes The New Rich

Pay Too Much.  But There'S No Doubt But Money Is To The

Fore Now.  It Is The Romance,  The Poetry Of Our Age.

It'S The Thing that Chiefly Strikes The Imagination.

The Englishmen Who Come Here Are More Curious About The

Great New Millionaires Than About Any One Else,  And They

Respect Them More.  It'S All Very Well.  I Don'T Complain

Of It."

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"And You Would Like A Rich Daughter-In-Law,  Quite Regardless,  Then?"

 

"Oh,  Not Quite So Bad As That,  Tom," Said His Father.

"A Little Youth,  A Little Beauty,  A Little Good Sense

And Pretty Behaviour--One Mustn'T Object To Those Things;

And They Go Just As Often With Money As Without It.  And I

Suppose I Should Like Her People To Be Rather Grammatical."

 

"It Seems To Me That You'Re Exacting,  Sir," Said The Son.

"How Can You Expect People Who Have Been Strictly Devoted

To Business To Be Grammatical? Isn'T That Rather Too Much?"

 

"Perhaps It Is.  Perhaps You'Re Right.  But I Understood

Your Mother To Say That Those Benefactors Of Hers,

Whom You Met Last Summer,  Were Very Passably Grammatical."

 

"The Father Isn'T."

 

The Elder,  Who Had Been Smoking with His Profile Toward

His Son,  Now Turned his Face Full Upon Him.  "I Didn'T

Know You Had Seen Him?"

 

"I Hadn'T Until To-Day," Said Young Corey,  With A Little

Heightening of His Colour.  "But I Was Walking down Street

This Afternoon,  And Happened to Look Round At A New House

Some One Was Putting up,  And I Saw The Whole Family

In The Window.  It Appears That Mr. Lapham Is Building

The House."

 

The Elder Corey Knocked the Ash Of His Cigarette Into

The Holder At His Elbow.  "I Am More And More Convinced,

The Longer I Know You,  Tom,  That We Are Descended from

Giles Corey.  The Gift Of Holding one'S Tongue Seems

To Have Skipped me,  But You Have It In full Force.

I Can'T Say Just How You Would Behave Under Peine Forte

Et Dure,  But Under Ordinary Pressure You Are Certainly

Able To Keep Your Own Counsel.  Why Didn'T You Mention

This Encounter At Dinner? You Weren'T Asked to Plead

To An Accusation Of Witchcraft."

 

"No,  Not Exactly," Said The Young Man.  "But I Didn'T

Quite See My Way To Speaking of It.  We Had A Good Many

Other Things Before Us."

 

"Yes,  That'S True.  I Suppose You Wouldn'T Have Mentioned

It Now If I Hadn'T Led up To It,  Would You?"

 

"I Don'T Know,  Sir.  It Was Rather On My Mind To Do So.

Perhaps It Was I Who Led up To It."

 

His Father Laughed.  "Perhaps You Did,  Tom; Perhaps You Did.

Your Mother Would Have Known You Were Leading up To Something,

But I'Ll Confess That I Didn'T. What Is It?"

 

"Nothing very Definite.  But Do You Know That In spite

Of His Syntax I Rather Liked him?"

 

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