Those Dale Girls Part 6

"No; two fellows at the Aldine Club have talked me into joining them. Of course, sir, I realize you may object to so long an absence," said Kenneth, who felt that a storm was brewing, "and I might be able to make it a year or so if you preferred."

"Inasmuch as you have scarcely been at home a month in the past year or so, I should prefer that you dismiss the project altogether."

"That seems rather surprising, sir," said Kenneth, with a laugh his father did not like, "when I have been going and coming without comment ever since I left college."

"All the more reason why you should begin to think of settling down,"

replied his father testily.

"Settling down?" repeated the son; "what do you want me to do?"

"We will come to that later. The main thing is, that you are to give up this notion and remain here with me. If you force me to it I shall refuse to give you the money for such an expedition."

"I have some property of my own," Kenneth said, his whole nature rising in rebellion.

"You wouldn't be such a fool as to squander that pittance on a pleasure trip! Be careful, Kenneth! I am in no mood to be thwarted to-day!"

"Then why do you thwart me? It is not a remarkable thing for a man to want to travel," trying to speak calmly, "and I don't see why you should take it in this unexpected way-it is unreasonable."

But Mr. Landor, being a quick-tempered man, was beyond reason and had too little comprehension of his son to realize that his opposition tended to fan into a fixed resolve what had up to this time been only a pleasing possibility. There was a stern look about his mouth as he said to Kenneth, "You will do as I say, and remain for the present in Radnor.

I have other plans for you."

As he had never been dictated to in his life, this emphatic order fell with considerable astonishment upon Kenneth's ears, even though he knew his father to be in an irascible frame of mind. He thought, however, that the thing might blow over, as many a quarrel between them had blown over, after which, in all these contests of will, the younger man had invariably gained the day.

Kenneth was not of an ugly disposition; indeed, his nature was most lovable, while his peculiar exemption from responsibility had produced an inconsequential, happy-go-lucky att.i.tude toward life that was one of his greatest charms. And the selfishness that sometimes cropped out in his character was not viciousness, but the natural outcome of over-indulgence. It had never occurred to him that his father would make any demands upon him, though in a vague, unformed sort of way he intended ultimately to make demands upon himself. Just how he should do this gave him occasional delightfully introspective moments in which he played with possibilities. In his father's eyes that was Kenneth's great weakness-that he played with all the abandon of a vagabond; but to blame the man for this was a great injustice, since his father had not suggested or encouraged his taking up any business or profession, and had supplied him with a liberal income dating back to the beginning of his college career.

To this indolent, pleasure-loving son, nothing could be in greater contrast than the father. Caleb Landor took life hard, but life had been hard on him. Born of poor parents in a Maine village, he had been inured to poverty from his infancy. His schooling had been meager, and sandwiched in between long periods when he was required to lend a hand in the saw-mill where his father was employed. But the habit of industry thus acquired proved useful, and stimulated his desire to get into the world of business, so that he made his way eventually to Radnor, the goal of his ambition. Then followed years of hard work and small pay, during which the greater part of his earnings went down to the large family in the Maine village. At thirty he was looked upon as a man of ability; at forty he was a prosperous merchant, with Fortune beckoning him on. By all the laws of compensation this should have been his turning point to happiness, but he had the misfortune to be married for his money at this period of his career, by a frivolous Radnor girl of good position, whose beauty turned his head. As after the first months of marriage she took no pains to conceal her indifference to him, he received a bitter blow, from which he was many years recovering. He was spared, however, the anguish of protracted disappointment, for she had died in the second year of their marriage, leaving him a baby son. And so Caleb, giving all, lost what he had never won.

This episode in his life did not tend to soften a nature somewhat morose and caused him to draw more and more within himself, devoting his energies to his business, and almost forgetting at times that he was a father.

When he did think of Kenneth, it was to realize that he had his mother's beauty; but even at an early age there was no indication that he had inherited her smallness of mind, for which his father felt devoutly grateful, though there were times when he could scarcely bear the boy about, so forcibly did his likeness to his mother bring back the past.

So he left him to grow up among the servants in the dreary house, sent him at fourteen to a preparatory school and then to college. He intended that Kenneth should have everything he himself had missed. In the matter of money it pleased him to provide generously for the lad, who grew to manhood the envy and favorite of all his a.s.sociates, but almost a stranger to his father, who was equally a stranger to him. It did not occur to Caleb Landor that this was because he had given to the boy lavishly of everything except himself.

When the carriage drew up before their door on the evening with which this chapter opens, Kenneth sprang out with a feeling of relief and turned to help his father. It struck him suddenly that he looked old and feeble, which would not be strange, inasmuch as he was fast approaching his seventieth birthday, but Kenneth had never been impressed by this before.

"You had better take my arm, sir," he said, pleasantly, "the sidewalk is slippery to-night."

Mr. Landor refused the proffered aid and went on ahead into the house.

He had yet to learn that Kenneth could be leaned upon.

Through dinner there was little conversation between them, not from any constraint arising out of the recent disagreement, but because each was in the habit of carrying on his own inward train of thought without so much as a suspicion that the outward expression of it would have been of interest to the other. But it would have been of interest. Kenneth often wondered what his father's opinions were on the topics of the day and many times would have broken the oppressive silence if the idea had not become fixed in his mind that his father built up this barrier of reserve from choice. It was a natural impression, but a wrong one, and led to many misunderstandings, for though he gave his son no encouragement to be communicative he secretly longed for his companions.h.i.+p and was beginning to feel a need of his presence in the house.

Kenneth went to a couple of receptions that evening and looked in at a dance later on; but did not remain long, for things of this sort bored him, albeit he was very popular in Radnor society.

As he entered the house after midnight he noticed a bright light in his father's room. This was so unusual an occurrence that he feared something might be wrong and ventured to knock at the door. There was no response, which was not rea.s.suring, so he opened the door and walked in.

In a big chintz-covered chair sat Mr. Landor asleep before the fire. He had undressed and was enveloped in a heavy dressing-gown that fell away at the neck, disclosing the throat upon which Time lays such relentless fingers. He stirred a little and Kenneth was about to leave the room satisfied that his father was all right and would probably resent this intrusion, when the older man woke with a start, and accosting him in a tone more curious than resentful, said, "What are you doing in here?"

"I noticed your light, and thought you might be ill. Is there anything I can do for you before I turn in?" replied Kenneth, looking down from the height of his six feet upon the shrunken figure of his father.

"Nothing at all, nothing at all," waving him off; "I am reading." He picked up the newspaper that had fallen to the floor, and became suddenly absorbed in it, after the manner of persons who object to being caught napping.

A smile flickered about Kenneth's well-shaped mouth but was properly suppressed. There was something pathetic, almost appealing to him to-night about his father.

"If you are not in any particular hurry to finish your paper may I stop a moment?" he said.

"There is a chair-make yourself comfortable."

"I would like to talk about those plans you spoke of this afternoon,"

began Kenneth as soon as he was seated. "I wish very much you would tell me more about them-what your idea is for my immediate future."

"Where are your own ideas? At twenty-eight a man must have a few." Mr.

Landor kicked a log impatiently, sending up a shower of sparks.

"We were speaking of your ideas, were we not, sir? Mine can come later."

"So you have some, have you? Good! After all, with your education and advantages it is to be expected. But as your ideas are to be kept to yourself, so are mine. We will talk no further on this subject."

"We _will_ talk on this subject," said Kenneth, rising and standing with head erect and flas.h.i.+ng eyes. "I am not a boy, father, as you very well know, and I shall not consent to this sort of thing for a moment. If you have anything in your mind regarding me it is my right to know it, and your duty to tell me. You spoke to-day of my settling down. I have been thinking of it a good deal since, and I am inclined to think you are right about it; but I would like to know just what you mean-just what it is you want me to do."

"Kenneth, I want you around." The words came in a m.u.f.fled tone that was scarcely audible.

"Want me around?" repeated Kenneth incredulously; "why, I thought I drove you to desperation with my lazy ways and erratic hours and general worthlessness."

"So you do, so you do," gruffly, "but I like it. I like to know you are in the house. Stay around, Kenneth and you can have things pretty much your own way. We will say no more about settling down to business."

"Oh! that is all right, father; I'll stay." It was a new sensation to find that he was wanted. Moved by a sudden impulse he drew near meaning to grip his father's hand-the desire was strong within him to get close to the old man. But when he neared the chair he turned sharply on his heel and crossed to the door, withheld by the habit of years.

Mr. Landor was watching him through half-closed lids, and made no sign.

"Good night, father; glad I found you up. I have something in mind I would like to discuss with you later if I am to stay on here."

"Any time, any time. I have leisure enough for anything of importance.

Come in again some time-good night." His head was turned away as he spoke.

"Poor old governor," thought Kenneth, as he went to his room; "I believe he is lonely."

When the door had closed, Caleb Landor sat some moments in deep meditation. Then he rose and slowly crossed the room to a table on which stood a box-shaped rosewood writing-desk curiously inlaid with pearl-the most treasured possession of his mother long since dead. This he unlocked, and lifting the lid pressed a small k.n.o.b by means of which a secret drawer flew open. In this shallow receptacle lay an oval miniature which the man took out and held under the strong light of the gas jet. It was the face of a woman, young and very beautiful, and for a long while the image held the man transfixed. Once he lifted his head suddenly, as if he thought some one was approaching but it was only the noise of Kenneth's boots flung upon the floor in an adjoining room. On the mantel a clock ticked solemnly, warning him of the flight of time, and at last he sighed wearily, and with unsteady hands dropped the miniature into its hiding place and locked the desk. For a moment he leaned heavily on the table and appeared to be listening, but all was still in Kenneth's room. Over the stern impa.s.sive features of Caleb Landor came a look of yearning tenderness. Then he put out the gas and went to bed.

CHAPTER VII

Hester never remembered leaving the car or how she got home after the fatal catastrophe, but indelibly printed on Julie's mind would always be the picture of a wide-eyed breathless girl who rushed in upon her and threw a mangled package on the table.

"Oh, my dear! what is the matter?" cried Julie.

But Hester could not speak.