The Ancient Grudge/Chapter 18
XVIII
TWO AMATEURS
Colonel Halket pursued his habitual policy of reticence. Any one who intimated to him disapproval of his plans was excluded from further confidences on the subject. Since the night of his dinner party, when he had found Floyd unsympathetic, he had never discussed with him the scheme of the great combination, and Floyd for his part had evinced no curiosity. It seemed to him that if his grandfather cared to volunteer nothing, his own most effective protest must be by the indifference of silence. The old man was, however, waiting for his grandson to make advances and grew vexed when they did not come. To have the most important designs of his life ignored in this manner, treated day after day as if they were visionary notions which after a first enthusiasm had been abandoned, exasperated Colonel Halket and set him more obstinately than ever to the task of carrying them out. Floyd was not kept in ignorance of their development; Mr. Dunbar and Mr. Ackerman and others of the manufacturers who were included in the arrangement consulted him casually from time to time, taking his interest for granted.
At the proper season Colonel Halket resorted to his customary channels—the local newspapers. On each of them he conferred a carefully written statement: "It is now said, on the highest authority, that the mammoth combination of iron and steel mills to which reference has previously been made in these columns will comprise among others the works of Halket & Co., Dunbar & Co., Ackerman & Jones,—etc. This vast corporation will undoubtedly be successful in controlling the steel output of all this section; and its further growth is not easy to forecast. Its main objects, in the words of one who is high in the councils of the organizers, are to cheapen steel for the consumer, prevent over-production, advance all legitimate economies, and to harmonize and unify the interests of labor as well as those of capital. … The company is to be capitalized at two hundred millions of dollars—one hundred millions of preferred stock, and an equal amount of common. A certain amount of these shares, not yet determined, may be subscribed for by the public; definite announcement with regard to this is deferred for a few weeks. It is the confident expectation of the large interests behind the scheme that the new corporation will begin operations the first of next October, and that its first quarterly dividend will be paid at the beginning of the new year."
Floyd did not see the article until he arrived at his office. He was interrupted in the middle of his reading by a telephone message from Gregg; the superintendent was disturbed; anxiety in New Rome over this announcement had become a "scare;" already the men were wondering which mills were going to be shut down and how much of a cut in wages would be made at the start.
"Tell them," said Floyd bluntly, "that from your point of view the persons to be alarmed are the officers, not the men."
He had hardly hung up the receiver and resumed his reading when he was again interrupted by a telephone call. Mr. Samuel Tustin, chairman of the executive committee of the Affiliated Iron Workers, and two members of the committee desired an appointment with him that afternoon. "Come in at three," Floyd said. "But if it's in connection with what is published in this morning's newspaper, I can tell you nothing."
At intervals that morning he was harassed by clerks and salesmen and other employees of the company's offices coming to him with a timorous desire to be reassured. They were afraid that when this big combination was organized, the office force might be reduced.
"I hope there will be no change in the policy," Floyd said to each one in turn. "I shall certainly use all the influence I have to prevent a change."
They thanked him and departed confidently; he wished there was better ground for their confidence. His influence with his grandfather! Floyd felt that Colonel Halket would listen neither to argument nor to appeal. Never yet had he suffered Floyd's advice to deflect him from a purpose; and though he might be silenced by argument, he always remained, as Floyd had found, undaunted and unshaken.
Tustin, Shelton, and a man named Caskey, representing the executive committee of the Affiliated, called that afternoon. Tustin explained that on behalf of the men they wished to inquire if the changes of which the newspapers had given the first warning foreshadowed a change in policy toward employees.
"I can express nothing but a personal opinion," replied Floyd. "That is, that the workmen at New Rome have nothing to fear. If you wish for any more definite expression, I must refer you to headquarters—to Colonel Halket. And I cannot promise that even then you will get anything more definite."
Tustin, who was a suspicious and distrustful man, looked at him with narrow eyes. The other two delegates were silent. At last Shelton, with an effort, said: "I—I kind of thought, Mr. Halket, from the way you spoke to me a while ago that there was no danger of this thing going through."
"At that time I was not at liberty to speak freely," Floyd answered. "I am very sorry if what I said misled you. But I think that the workmen at New Rome are in no danger of suffering by the proposed change."
"I've worked," said Shelton, "for Colonel Halket a good many years; I was expecting to work for you a good many more,—and no kick coming. Working for a man that you like and respect, that's one thing; but working for a trust that you don't know nothing about, that's another; and I don't relish the change. And it seems hardly fair, Mr. Halket, to transfer a whole lot of men that have kind of grown up with one order, so to speak, just by a stroke of the pen, to another order—and never giving them no say about it at all."
"No doubt they will be less affected by the change than they fear," Floyd answered. "Although I don't yet know all the details of the plan, I do know this—that in what he is doing. Colonel Halket has the welfare of the people at New Rome very much at heart."
The words had a hypocritical sound, and Floyd felt that Tustin at least believed he was a hypocrite. It would not have surprised him could he have known that when the men had departed Tustin denounced him bitterly to the two others as a double-dealer, and that Shelton had not the heart or the ability to undertake his defense. And because he was conscious of the impression which he had necessarily made, the interview left him depressed.
The telephone call sounded; Floyd's ungracious "Hello" was succeeded by a more amiable tone. "Oh, is that you, Stewart?" He detected an unusual excitement in Stewart's voice, even before he deciphered the announcement, "It's a boy!" Stewart was crying to him; and then it seemed to Floyd that he felt the elation traveling over the wires. "A great, fat, bald-headed little kid. Born early this morning.—Yes, Lydia's as well as can be—and so's the baby. I wanted to let you know about it at once; we re going to call him—if you don't mind—Floyd Halket."
"What?" Floyd cried into the telephone.
"Floyd Halket—H-a-l-k-e-t. Got it? That's to be his name. Lydia suggested it—but I want some credit for seconding a good idea."
"I'm overcome," said Floyd, "Thank you both; thank Lydia for me. I feel like a father myself. Look here; when can I come round and see my namesake?"
"Oh, I don't know—I don't know much about such things yet. But I guess any time; stop in to-morrow. The christening's to be in three weeks; you'll be on hand?"
"I'll be sure. Wait. What kind of a present would appeal to him most?"
"Oh, you must n't begin right off giving him presents. You'll spoil him."
"You've got to risk that from godfathers," said Floyd.
He put on his hat and went out to inspect spoons, napkin-rings, and mugs; he decided finally that nothing could be more satisfactory than a mug, properly inscribed. The mug suggested other things; returning to the office, he called up his grandfather's farm and gave orders that the prize Jersey should be sent at once to Mr. Floyd Halket Lee.
The fact that Lydia was the mother of a boy drove all depressing business cares from Floyd's mind. He alternated, in thinking of it, between elation and a shadowed kind of happiness. Her wish to name her son after him revived his failing romance; the fact that she had a son seemed somehow to exhibit more pitilessly to his mind than anything yet the folly of his romance. He felt vaguely that the birth of the boy meant the gradual withdrawal of her intimate interest in himself—an interest which so long as she had only Stewart she was able to give, but which now must be very intermittent. Her wish to name the child for him pleased him—yet as he thought, even it had its tantalizing incompleteness; if he could only feel that it had been prompted by the desire to please and commemorate the man whom next to her husband she loved, and not by a grateful sense that it was proper so to honor one who had saved her husband's life! Then he knew that there must have been in her thoughts something of both these motives; and in this belief he was content.
Lydia was a mother; the fact moved him to a gentler tenderness. There followed with this a melancholy reflection; Stewart and Lydia were living life in its fullness; he was not. The man who had no wife to cherish, no children to train and love, was a petty, pinching fellow; inglorious middle age would wait upon his wasted youth, and would in turn be followed by lonely and unblest senility. Hitherto there had been a certain pride with which Floyd had measured himself up to the stature of one whom Lydia might have loved; now he was of a humble mind.
Colonel Halket was mildly interested at hearing the news from Floyd.
"We'll have Dunbar over here every day now," he grumbled, "telling us what it's like to be a grandfather. He'll kick up more row about it in a week than I've done in all the years I've been one. He's got no sense of proportion, that man. Boy or girl, did you say?"
"Boy," Floyd answered. "You'll be glad to hear, I think," he added modestly, "that they're going to name the baby Halket."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Colonel Halket, with real interest. "Well, well! Of course I always knew George Dunbar was an admirer of mine, but I certainly would n't have expected him to make his daughter name her child for me! Well, well!" The old man laughed with the most candid pleasure. "Dunbar's a good fellow; he certainly is,—and I'll remember it."
"I'm afraid I didn't explain," Floyd said. "The baby's named Floyd Halket Lee; I guess Stewart and Lydia did it without consulting Mr. Dunbar."
The satisfaction had left Colonel Halket's face. He said with sharpness,—
"Why did n't you make it clear—instead of leaving me to think?—"
Then he walked away quite in a dudgeon. He got as far as the door, and Floyd could not make up his mind whether to laugh or to be disturbed at such feeling over the matter. But at the door Colonel Halket turned and came back.
"Well," he said, and there was a twinkle in his eyes that betokened returning good humor, "they've given him a good name anyhow—and I'm willing my own should be reserved for your first-born."
"Thank you. Grandfather," Floyd said.
"So they've named him after you instead of me," continued the old man, still with a tinge of displeasure. "Well, was n't I just telling you that Dunbar had no sense of proportion? I don't care whether he had a hand in it or not; it's just what I should expect of him; oh, I don't begrudge you the honor; I've had babies named for me in my time—and I'll have more. When the new combine gets to working, about one in every ten babies in New Rome will be Robert Halket Something-or-other. See if they are n't."
This vaunt contained a challenge that Floyd could not pass over in silence.
"I don't see any signs of that now," he said. "I received a delegation from the works to-day, and I don't believe. Grandfather, that they contemplate naming their children after you. Until you can reassure them with a statement of your real purposes, I am afraid they will distrust you. It may even go so far that nothing you can do or say will reassure them."
"I'll speak when I'm ready," Colonel Halket answered irritably. "My plans are working out—but I don't hurry them. I know you don't sympathize; you are no doubt glad to see any obstruction placed in the way. But the movement cannot be checked; and when it is explained to the people they will welcome it—as much as Ackerman and Dunbar have welcomed it."
"And other manufacturers who lacked a sense of proportion where the value of their property was concerned," Floyd said cynically.
"Floyd," Colonel Halket answered, "you must be more receptive; you must endeavor to cultivate and imbibe more progressive ideas. Otherwise—I must tell you frankly—you will be unable to hold the commanding position which should be yours. To control successfully a tremendous enterprise, such as ours now is, a man must be abreast of modern business methods—and ahead of them. Always a pioneer—that is the motto for a young man; it has been my motto as an old one. I have heard men say, 'Pioneering doesn't pay;' I have found it contains all kinds of rewards, and most satisfactory of all, the consciousness of improving upon conditions, of creative achievement. When you stand off and instead of coöperating in a great movement affect to belittle it and question the motives behind it, you show a flaw in your character, a most serious flaw, a wretched dilettantism for which in the industrial world there is no place, and a carping spirit of criticism that is, to say the least, most unbecoming. And I repeat: if you have no other pride or ambition in the matter—if only for your own good—it is essential that you try to stand for advanced policies and break away from this benumbing conservatism; for the place which I hold and to which you should sometime succeed is not one where a man may sit still; it demands of him activity and progress, and if he does not respond, it will demand some one who will."
"You think I am trying to place obstacles in your way because I try to represent to you the true sentiment of your workmen," Floyd said. "I believe when you come into actual contact with them yourself on this matter, you will be surprised; you may find it advisable to modify your plans."
"I have been used to handling men all my life," Colonel Halket declared haughtily. "I have never had any trouble with them; and I do not expect to have any now."
A few days later he came to Floyd with a triumphant expression on his face and said, "Here is an object-lesson in how to handle men."
He gave Floyd the draft of a proclamation addressed "To the Employees of Halket & Company."
"I'm going to have big broadsides struck off and posted up all about the works," he explained.
The proclamation was brief.
"On October 1st, Halket & Company and other steel manufacturing companies will be united, forming the Central Steel Company. The individuality of the Halket works will, however, be preserved. On Thursday evening. May 15th, at 8 o'clock, Colonel Robert Halket will address employees of the company in the auditorium of the Halket Library. As the purpose of this address is to remove any misconception as to the effect of the new merger upon employees of these works, a full attendance is desired."
"Well," said Floyd, "it's good as far as it goes. The important thing of course is the address."
"I'll take care of that," Colonel Halket replied confidently.
"It's worth working over," Floyd warned him. "I'm afraid it won't be an easy victory; you've got to convince men who, because of the delay in giving them your confidence, have grown distrustful and afraid. They don't like the scheme; you've got to give them mighty good reasons to make them like it."
"Floyd," his grandfather said, and though he began patiently he soon grew irritable, "I don't know what has turned you into such a pessimist; it is deplorable in so young a man. It annoys me; it annoys me exceedingly. After my experience of all these years in handling men—my men—this constant nagging advice on your part is presumptuous—impertinent. I—it seems to me I am entitled to your support, not your criticism. I—it annoys me—it annoys me exceedingly."
He folded up the manifesto with fingers that trembled, and turned away.
"Oh, look here, Grandfather! Don't take it that way." Colonel Halket stood irresolute. "You know I don't mean just to be fault-finding when I differ with you; but I feel I'm a little more in touch with the men out at New Rome than you are—and I can't help seeing—"
"You can't help seeing nightmares," broke in Colonel Halket peevishly. "You are in touch with the men; very well; so have my superintendents been in touch with the men, and often they have come to me afraid—afraid—and always because they were in touch with the men! But their fears never influenced me; I held to my own course; I may not have been in touch with the men—but I knew my power over them. And I know my power over them now. I tell you, Floyd, I have borne with timorous, complaining superintendents, who were always volunteering warnings and advice; but never till now have I had to live with that sort of thing in my own house,—and I don't like it—I won't have it! It seems hard that a man at my age should be persecuted constantly by such dismal croakings in his own house—at his very elbow—from one whom he wishes to look on as his right hand."
During the latter part of this speech he had been walking to and fro across the room with increasing agitation, and his voice had grown unsteady; having finished, he seemed to feel that he could control himself no longer, for he turned abruptly and went out of the door.
Floyd was left with a feeling of helplessness and pity. He had not needed this fresh evidence of his grandfather's failing powers, of a decline which had been ominously rapid. A comparatively short time before, the note of querulousness had never been heard in Colonel Halket's voice; now it seemed to Floyd almost as frequent as his tone of assurance and self-confidence. His vanity seemed to have grown more childish and apparent, his mental outlook seemed to have been narrowed; and the tremor of his hands when he was agitated, his lack of self-control, and the readiness with which he became agitated, all marked the swift progress of decay. That in this condition he should be burdening himself with first the construction and then the administration of a greater business enterprise than any upon which he had hitherto embarked seemed to Floyd lamentable; it could only, he thought, damage his grandfather in health and reputation and prove costly to all who were concerned in it—except perhaps the small group of mill-owners and financiers. Moreover, the situation made Floyd unhappy on his own account; after having lived in intimate relations with his grandfather for so many years, it was hard for him to feel that they were no longer sympathetic, and that Colonel Halket, instead of confiding in him as formerly, now took precautions to keep him in ignorance, fearing his criticism.
In a few days Colonel Halket's "broadsides" were printed and posted on the mill offices, on the stockade surrounding the works, in the street cars, in the Halket Public Library, on telegraph poles. The notices provoked little comment beyond an expression of curiosity as to what Colonel Halket would have to say. That the proclamation had not the completely, disarming effect anticipated by its author was evident to Floyd when Gregg reported to him the proceedings at the meeting of the union on the Sunday after it was posted. The hall was crowded, though it was a warm, clear afternoon such as would ordinarily have denoted a slim attendance. Tustin addressed the meeting from the chair; he urged every member of the union to be on hand when Colonel Halket made his speech.
"This conspiracy of capital is going through," Tustin cried in his harangue, "and what laboring-man has been consulted? Your allegiance is to be transferred, your services are to be disposed of, you are yourselves in fact to be sold—it is not too strong a word—sold like chattels—sold like cattle. Here in this proclamation"—he held it up dramatically—"we have Colonel Halket's word for it; the deal is all but consummated, the terms are being arranged—and when they are settled, he will kindly come here and tell you all about it and let you know what you will get out of it! There is little enough in the situation as we know it to encourage us. But I will ask you to mark one thing. Colonel Halket will kindly come and explain to us. Fellow workers, it is the first time that Colonel Halket has ever felt obliged to come here and formally explain to us his policy. Before this, he has always been willing to let it speak for itself. Why does he feel obliged to speak for it now? I will tell you; it is because he knows it is on the face of it against the best interests of the laboring-man, and he hopes by smooth words to persuade you to accept it without a protest. It is because his eyes have been opened to your discontent and he has been made afraid. He will try to put you off with plausible words, and it will be your last chance to pin him down to facts. I call upon you all to attend that meeting, and to demand from Colonel Halket his pledge for the preservation of the union and for stability of wages and employment in these works."
Floyd read the stenographic report of the speech, which Gregg had sent him, and after some deliberation placed it on his grandfather's desk. An hour later, when he came down to dinner. Colonel Halket confronted him with the paper in his hand.
"Did you put this on my desk?" Colonel Halket demanded in an angry voice.
"Yes, sir."
"Why did you not come to me in person with it and discuss it? You are too ingenious at inventing expedients to harass me—laying traps for me all about my house. Nothing is more offensive, more despicable than such underhand procedure—"
"Grandfather," cried Floyd appealingly, "I did n't mean to be underhand; you know I did n't. I thought you preferred to avoid discussion of the subject with me entirely; and here was something that came into my hands and that I thought you ought to see—something that I thought might help you in the preparation of your speech."
"Or something that you thought might discourage me from making my speech," Colonel Halket replied cynically.
"I am sorry you have so little kindness toward me as to think that," said Floyd.
"What else am I to think?" asked his grandfather. "Your hand has been against me, all through this affair. The hand of every one seems against me, every one on whom I had reason to count. This very document—why, this man Tustin is head of the union that I welcomed into my mills when others were fighting it. But ungrateful as my employees are, I shall persist in my efforts to advance their interests; I shall persist even though I am opposed at home. And when once they have heard me speak, they will be convinced of my sincerity—even though I have not been able to convince you."
"I have never expressed a doubt of your sincerity," Floyd said.
"I am glad to hear it," Colonel Halket replied, but his tone was inexorable. "Dinner is ready; will you walk out?"
"Yes, I will," cried Floyd, with a laugh, seizing his grandfather by the arm. "And don't let's go in to dinner mad; I don't want to sit glowering at you across the table, and I certainly don't want to have you glaring at me."
Colonel Halket relented at this appeal to his good humor, though with some reluctance and only as far as seemed to him compatible with his dignity. The constraint of politeness and consideration with which he treated Floyd did not wear off for some time. And although henceforth Floyd avoided expressing any opinion or criticism that might irritate his grandfather and tried to show him only his gayest, most light-hearted, and affectionate feelings, he knew that between them there was hardly more than a pretense of intimacy. Colonel Halket knew it too; Floyd might be as cheerful and lively as he pleased, but he did not sympathize with the crowning purpose and ambition of Colonel Halket's life; and not all the incidental gentleness and playfulness and affection in the world could atone for this essential disloyalty.
Floyd attended the christening of Lydia's baby and after the ceremony was over was allowed to hold the infant in his arms. It was a fat, hairless child, with an unblinking eye, and after looking up at its godfather for some moments it contorted its whole little frame in a chuckle of silent laughter; it was a most agreeable baby. Floyd restored it to the arms of its nurse with an unchristian envy of Stewart's happiness. Stewart stood by, bland, satisfied, smiling; Floyd thought it an impertinence to nature that a man should so soon grow complacent over so wonderful a gift and accept it as a matter of course.
Two weeks later Stewart gave a private exhibition of his "Pictures of Industrial Life," in the Art Room of the Avalon Club. As private views go, it was a success, for the room was so crowded with friends of the painter as to make a critical inspection of the pictures impossible. The visitors all possessed themselves of the neatly printed little catalogues which were piled on a table by the door, and holding these open in their hands went about connecting each picture with its title; after this casual examination they would seize their opportunity to compliment Stewart on his work, and would then form little groups for general talk and gossip. Lydia was there; it was the first time that Floyd had seen her since the baby was born, and he went up to her at once and said that he was glad she was out again. Then he wondered if that was an awkward thing for him to have said, but she answered quite frankly that she was glad to be out again. She asked him if he had seen all the pictures, and when he said he had not, she took him up to three or four that she liked best. While she was describing one of them, she suddenly broke off with—
"Oh, it was so lovely of you to have thought of sending that cow for my baby! But—is n't it sad!—the doctor won't let him have the milk from it. The milk of a Jersey is n't good for babies; they must have only the common cow."
"I never knew that before," said Floyd.
"I didn't either," she admitted. "It's astonishing how ignorant a person can be about babies and yet bring them into the world. I'm not going to send your cow back to you, Floyd; I'm going to keep it till the little Floyd gets old enough to appreciate it."
"Thank you," Floyd said. "Meanwhile it will give me pleasure to send round a most ordinary cow."
"Oh no, you really must n't. Besides, we have no place for it. But it's good of you, Floyd, to think of it; thank you."
She turned again to the picture and resumed her interpretation of it, but, as it seemed to Floyd, with a certain indifference—at least as contrasted with the frank enthusiasm of her digression. Floyd had a flash of insight; Stewart had lost her. Not absolutely, to be sure; but the place he had held since the beginning of his married life was no longer his; there was something henceforth more vital to her than his work and his play; perhaps in the unselfishness of fatherhood he would resign himself to this withdrawal of interest and even rejoice in it. However this might be, the important fact which Floyd clearly recognized was that hereafter she must be more remote from him, as well as from her husband. She stood before him as much a girl as ever, in appearance,—as slender, as laughing, as young; yet her girlhood now lay behind her, and its gentle interests must henceforth be subdued in the gentler, quieter duties of a mother. Such a casual kindness as she was now showing him, in singling him out from a crowd and explaining to him the good points of her husband's pictures, was as much as he might in future expect to receive; he could not have formulated a statement of what, more than this, he had ever received or expected; yet the fact that she was a mother made her seem to him definitely far more distant and unapproachable than she had ever been as merely a wife.
The conclusion was not one at which he arrived by any instantaneous process; but after he had moved away and stood alone watching her, it slowly became clear in his mind. He was roused from his moody, solitary musing by a low voice at his ear—"Why, oh, why do you let him do it?"
Floyd turned and saw Marion Clark looking at him with an expression of whimsical distress.
"Do what?" he asked.
"I hear that they are nearly all painted out at your mills, and so you must be partly responsible," she said. "It's a shame."
"Is it? Really as bad as that?"
She nodded. "In my opinion. And I'm morally sure I'm right. They say he's thinking of giving up his profession—in which I suppose he's pretty good. You must n't let him; he must be mad."
"I guess I won't undertake to instruct Stewart as to his proper calling," Floyd said dryly.
"Why, you're his best friend, are n't you? And it's no more than friendly to keep him from making a fool of himself."
Floyd contested the point. "Oh, if it were that. But I don't believe the pictures are so bad as you make out. Lydia called my attention to one especially and had a good deal to say for it that I thought all right."
"Well, I don't want to come into conflict with Lydia," Marion said. "But the drawing is enough to make one scream—to say nothing of the composition."
"He will probably improve," Floyd urged.
"He's not the kind that improves," she answered.
"Are n't you rather—positive?"
"You think I'm hard on people; I know I have that reputation. I dare say I see their faults generally. I'm sure I see Stewart's—as a painter. It seems to me almost a duty for his friends to organize a rescue league."
"And you hate ethical girls!"
"I'm not ethical; I just have a regard for art," she declared spiritedly.—"There's your grandfather; I hope he won't set the fashion by liking the pictures."
Colonel Halket had just entered the room; his tall figure, lean brown face and white hair showed above the group by the doorway, where he stood for a moment looking round for the painter. Then, as he saw Stewart and caught his eye, he threw his head back with the restrained smile of recognition which he bestowed on acquaintances in large gatherings. Also he moved toward Stewart with a leading citizen's majesty; and at once the path seemed to be made clear for him, even those who had been talking busily with backs turned, receiving some mysterious intimation of his approach and moving respectfully to one side. It would have been a greater man than Stewart who could have awaited hardily Colonel Halket's advance and pretended to be unconscious of it; Stewart attempted nothing so daring, but came forward at once, with outstretched hand. Indeed he was flattered by Colonel Halket's presence, even though he did not expect the manufacturer to approve of the message contained in the pictures. Marion and Floyd, who were standing near by, heard him offer to conduct his distinguished visitor on a tour of the room.
"No, thank you," Colonel Halket replied. "I must not claim so much of your attention. I will examine the pictures myself, and when I have done so, I will come back and report."
In his slow progress round the room he lost gradually the erect and steady bearing with which he had made his entrance; when he paused, his shoulders drooped, and when he moved on again they did not stiffen up to quite the old angle, which seemed always to denote the most complete confidence and self-respect. His face had grown pinched and withered in the last year; its hard brown muscles had slackened, and under his jaws hung loose folds of skin. The observation was made by more than one person that at last Colonel Halket was beginning to show his age; Marion Clark commented on it to Floyd.
"I'm afraid he's not well," she said.
"If he is n't, he's the most active sick man I ever saw," Floyd answered, preferring not to betray his own anxiety.
"There are so many things besides health that can make a man active," she remarked.
Floyd shared a common prejudice against being told that either he or a member of his family "was not looking well." Marion's resort to the brutal banality jarred on him and put him in a contentious mood. It implied a lack of Lydia's gentler sensitiveness; Lydia would never have roused one in so crude a way to an unpleasant fact. Yet why he should feel disappointment because Marion lacked something that Lydia had he could not understand; that had always been perfectly obvious. Possibly the disappointment came from an unconscious effort on his part to fit Marion immediately, even in the smallest details, into Lydia's place.
"I foresee," said Marion, with a humorous glance from Colonel Halket to Floyd, "that your grandfather's opinion is going to be favorable."
"You regard that as damaging?" he asked.
"No, not necessarily; I only regard it as final. In this case I am afraid it will be damaging. If he approves,— especially in pictures of such subjects,—it will be the fashion to admire; and Stewart will have a career thrust upon him. Of course he and Lydia have enough to live on, so he can be a dilettante all his life if he wants to, and no great harm done—if he's only obscure enough. A person who dabbles in an art and stays thoroughly obscure is usually all right—unspoiled, sincere, humble-minded, and, if not more interesting than other people, at least likely to be more than usually interested in other people—which is always attractive. But a person who dabbles in an art and has a second-rate success—or a fourth or fifth-rate success, such as Stewart will be sure to have—did you ever know one who did n't become egotistical, puffed-up, self-centred and arrogant over his accomplishment,—in fact generally insufferable?"
"I have never known one at all," Floyd confessed.
"I've known at least half a dozen," Marion said. "And I'm convinced that if Stewart were put in the way of it, he would grow to be just like them—especially here where he'd be the only real live artist."
"I doubt," said Floyd, "if Stewart would give up his profession merely because people liked the pictures that he painted by way of recreation."
"He would fly off at a tangent," said Marion slowly, "at any moment and at anything that promised a temporary distinction."
"That's a pretty shrewd statement," Floyd admitted. "But I must say again that you're rather positive."
"It comes," said Marion, "from being so often right." And then she laughed in a way that redeemed the conceit of the remark. "It would have been so much more valuable if only you had said that," she added.
"If I could only say half the things that you do, my conversation would be very much more valuable," he replied.
She was pleased and said, "You're not like Stewart."
"I don't understand."
"I said he is not the kind that improves."
Floyd laughed and dropped his eyes before Marion's candid, humorous, and yet somehow embarrassingly admiring gaze. He did not feel at all contentious now.
Some one touched his arm; he turned and found his grandfather at his elbow.
"Ah—how do you do, Marion?" Colonel Halket said, taking and holding her hand in a way that he had with young girls. Marion felt old enough to be excused from it. "Capital, are n't they—capital! Quite like life; I recognize everything very distinctly. That one in particular—" he pointed to the largest painting in the room, a picture showing the blast furnace with the liquid metal streaming out and three men spooning it along the troughs,—"it's quite remarkable the way those figures stand out, and the way he's given character to that stream of metal—the consistency, the feeling of heat, and all. Lee! Lee!"
Still holding Marion's hand, of which he had by this time presumably become unconscious, he waved his other arm, summoning Stewart from a group of women to whom he was talking. Stewart hurriedly excused himself and obeyed the summons. Two feeble-looking men and a shabbily dressed woman with a masculine face under a mannish gray felt hat, over which drooped a black feather, drew near also and then turned to look at the nearest picture. Floyd had noticed these persons occasionally jotting down notes on their catalogues and at other times hovering round Stewart, and had concluded that they were the representatives of the press.
"Lee," said Colonel Halket in a public voice, "how is it? Are these pictures for sale?"
"If anybody wants to buy them," Stewart answered, with a laugh.
"No doubt about that—no doubt whatever. You have quite a gift for depicting dramatic action. But what I especially like about the paintings is that they all bring out the dignity of labor; they show the laboring-man as he is, performing his task, industrious and happy."
Stewart gave an imperceptible start; Marion availed herself of the opportunity to withdraw her hand from Colonel Halket's grasp, which he had relaxed in his earnestness. Floyd had an uncomfortable idea that the notes which the three newspaper persons were making in front of the picture did not concern the picture at all.
"Yes," continued Colonel Halket, "I think I have never seen anything so well calculated to illustrate the pride of the good workman in his work and his joy in it as these pictures. It seems to me a high testimonial to your skill, Lee, that I recognize so distinctly the idea that you have put into your painting—the animating motive and expression, if I may call it that. And I am pleased that it should be so; if I am not mistaken, it is the characteristic of the great artist to seize unerringly and portray the salient and significant truth. I wish to congratulate you, sir, on your insight as well as on your technical skill."
Stewart had a struggle to conceal his anger and contempt.
"Damned old fool!—old humbug!" was the exclamation that was passionate in his mind. He had an impulse to reject the inane commendation with the scorn it deserved. But he restrained himself; prudence as well as good manners imposed endurance upon him. It would be folly to offend and turn away a possible purchaser, especially one like Colonel Halket who might not only pay an absurd price, but who might also more than any one else direct toward his work the current of popular appreciation and demand. "The work is good—it's art; there are no compromises in it," Stewart thought to himself proudly. "Well then, where's the harm in—in using methods to get it before the public? They won't many of them take such an asinine view of it."
Colonel Halket interrupted his vague murmured words of gratitude as indications of a modest and retiring spirit. "Don't undervalue your work, my boy," he urged him; "don't be afraid to set a price on it."—("I'll set a price on it," Stewart thought to himself vindictively.)—"I want you to put four of them aside for me. Mark four of them 'sold.'" Colonel Halket consulted his catalogue and read off the titles, pointing to each picture as he did so. "Six: The Forges of Tubal Cain. Eight: The Wire-Drawers. Thirteen: The Blast. Two: Tapping the Heat. I will present two of them to the Library out at New Rome; they can be hung in the Auditorium and they will serve as a stimulus, a source of pride to every working-man who sees them. The other two I want to enjoy for my own personal satisfaction in my own house. Sometime we will discuss the matter of terms; but in any event please remember that those four have been sold."
"I'll send you a bill for them to-morrow," Stewart said. "They're yours at any time."
Colonel Halket's appreciative speech and proposition to buy the four pictures had not been heard by Stewart and Floyd and Marion alone, for they had been sonorously delivered and had drawn groups of apparently inattentive persons who were in reality pricking their ears. Stewart was quite aware of this, and in his glance around thought he saw several among the listeners who would seek to emulate Colonel Halket in securing possession of one or more paintings of "Industrial Life." Meanwhile, the two men and the masculine-looking woman stood before "The Forges of Tubal Cain," taking notes with entire single-mindedness.
Marion and Floyd strolled away.
"It's too easy," said Marion.
"To be really success?" Floyd asked.
"Yes. Don't you think so?"
"I don't know anything about painting," he answered.
"You know a little about success."
"The last man in the world one would appeal to for first-hand information on the subject," he said, rather bitterly.
"You will know more some day," she assured him.
"The thought will recur—you are pretty positive," he replied.
"It comes," she repeated, "from finding that I am always right. Good-by; I must say a word to Lydia and be off."
She left him; and he found himself thinking that her air of perfect confidence was not so jarring after all, but rather pleasant. It occurred to him that although when he was with her she usually did or said something that jarred on him, she always left him, when they separated, feeling rather pleasant.
Stewart reaped the fruits of inexperience the next morning; he had invited the representatives of the three principal Avalon newspapers to his exhibition, but he had not provided them with an abstract of what they were to say. Therefore he was annoyed beyond measure to read in two newspapers criticisms which were indeed extremely laudatory, but which took the point of view of Colonel Halket and were strangely reminiscent of his words. It made Stewart sick at heart to think that the serious purpose which had animated his painting should be so stupidly misinterpreted and perverted, and a false account of it given to the world. He could take no pleasure in praise that was coupled with such unintelligent misunderstanding. It sickened him still more to find that each review concluded in this manner: "Among those present were noticed Colonel Robert Halket, Mr. and Mrs. George Dunbar," etc. ("Among those present we noticed," said the Eagle; its reviewer had a less impersonal, more chatty and engaging style.)
There was still one chance remaining; possibly the critic of the third newspaper, the Evening Telegram, might show himself—or herself, for Stewart remembered that she had been a woman—more perceptive and truly appreciative than her companions. He awaited the Evening Telegram with impatience. When it came, in one respect at least it did not disappoint him. It did not present an insipid rehash of Colonel Halket's opinions and commendations. The Evening Telegram was the newspaper which had waxed merry and scornful at the expense of Colonel Halket's Autobiography. It was a cynical and irreverent paper, and was recklessly Democratic in Avalon—a town where the really orthodox believed no less in a high protective tariff and the Republican party than in the doctrines of the Presbyterian Church. Its normal attitude was one of defiance, and the respectable persons of the community, who read it because it was too trenchant and aggressive to be ignored, felt that it never gave its support to the good, the true, the beautiful. It was "breezy " and frankly scurrilous; and hitherto no one had found it more amusing than Stewart.
"Mr. Stewart Lee held his exhibition of amateur paintings at the Avalon Club yesterday," said the Evening Telegram, "We say amateur advisedly; we do not suppose that Mr. Lee would care to have any professional standard of criticism applied to his work, and it would be needless as well as unprofitable cruelty to break a butterfly upon the wheel. The well-known litterateur and philanthropist, Colonel Halket, was on hand, pointing out various imaginary merits and beauties to those within reach of his voice. It is rumored that Colonel Halket contemplates purchasing and suppressing the entire collection. The others present were Tom Cary and his Hundred and Forty-Nine, and the three representatives of the Press, the Eagle. and the Telegram."
Stewart's face burned while he read the paragraph.
"What do they say, dear?" asked Lydia.
He held the newspaper out to her, and after a first frown or two she broke into a laugh.
"Good Heaven! you can laugh at that!" cried Stewart in disgust.
"Why it is n't worth being angry about," said Lydia. "And the last touch is rather funny."
Stewart expressed with sarcasm his inability to appreciate such humor. He wrote Colonel Halket a note that evening, setting a price on the pictures; the reviews in the three newspapers had made him reckless and ruthless, and he felt a vindictive pleasure in holding the manufacturer to account for his crass misunderstanding of an artist's purpose. The bill came to forty-five hundred dollars: fifteen hundred dollars for "The Forges of Tubal Cain" and a thousand dollars for each of the three others. Two days later he received a check for the amount together with a printed receipt to which he might affix his signature. The absence of any personal note or comment was perhaps significant.
Stewart, however, in cashing the check had somewhat the feeling of one who is compelled to sell out an investment at a loss. He had thrown all his energy and talent into the execution of a noble idea, which had been coldly received, and with no perception of its nobility. Defeated by such unexpected apathy and obtuseness, he could not pursue his great work to fulfillment; he was disappointed, but he could not afford to spend the best years of his life in the unselfish effort to convince a dull public; therefore he felt, as he cashed Colonel Halket's check, that he was closing out a generous, glowing impulse at something less than cost.
He sold no more pictures of Industrial Life; nor did he ever paint another.