CHAPTER XXIII
IN NEW YORK
Mrs. James Carbhoy had endured anything but a happy time for severalweeks. She had received no news from her beloved son; her husband hadspirited himself away on business and left her without a word ofdefinite information as to his whereabouts; while even the tryingpresence of her young daughter was denied her, since she had beenforced to dispatch that personification of childish willfulness totheir estate at Tuxedo, that she might be put through a course ofdisciplining by her various governesses.
She was alone, she reminded herself not less than three times a day,and to be alone in her great mansion at Central Park was the limit ofearthly punishment as she understood it. She detested it. She hatedthe hot summer landscape of the park; she was worried to death by thechorus of automobile hooters as the cars sped up and down the greatasphalt way; she felt that the red-and-white stone palaces with whichshe was surrounded were the ugliest things ever hidden from blind eyes,and an army of servants could be, and was, the most nerve-racking thingshe had ever been called upon to endure. For two peas she would pack abag--no, her maid would have to pack it; she was denied even thatpleasure--and hie herself to Europe.
This was something of the condition of mind to which she was reduced,when one morning two events happened almost simultaneously whichchanged the whole aspect of things, and created in her somethingapproaching a desire to continue the dreary monotony of life.
The first was the advent of her mail, with a long letter from her son_dated at Buffalo Point_, and the second was an urgent request from herhusband's manager, Mr. Harker, desiring permission to wait upon her, ashe had the most encouraging news from the long-lost Gordon and herhusband's affairs generally.
Gordon's mother did not read her son's letter at once. She saw theheading and glanced at the opening paragraph. The satisfaction soinspired caused her to set it aside for careful perusal after herbreakfast. Mr. Harker would be up to see her at about eleven o'clock.That would give her ample time to have digested its contents before hearrived.
For the first time in weeks she ate an ample breakfast at her customaryearly hour. She further forgot to make her maid's life a burden duringthe process of dressing, and she even enjoyed glancing over theadvertisements of the daily newspapers. Then came the hour ofseclusion in her boudoir when she yielded herself to the perusal of herboy's letter.
"BUFFALO POINT, Near Snake's Fall.
"DEAREST MUM:
"It seems so long since I sent you any mail, and I seem to have so muchnews to tell you, and I've so completely forgotten what I have alreadytold you, that I hardly know where to begin. However, you'll see bythe heading of this letter I am at Buffalo Point, and am glad to say Ihave received a visit from the dear old Dad, who is just as happy asany man of his devotion to work can be--on vacation. His visit to mehere has placed me in a position of great trust in his affairs in theneighborhood, and I am very proud that, through my own efforts, I havebeen so placed. After this I feel that the dear old Dad will neverhave cause to question my ability in dealing with big affairs. I feelhe will acknowledge that the seed of his example has really fallen onfruitful soil, and that, after all, perhaps I shall yet prove a worthyson of a great father.
"This, I guess, brings me to the discussion of a subject which has kindof interested me some these last days. It is the modern understandingof filial duty. I s'pose even such a duty changes in its aspect, aseverything else seems to change, with the passage of time. Chasingaround in the dark days of pre-civilized times filial duty seemedpretty clearly marked. One of the first duties of a son was, when hismother wasn't around to claim the privilege, to get in the way when hisfather wanted to hit something with his club. He was also kind ofhandy as a sacrifice, either well broiled or minced into fancy chunks,to make his father's Gods feel good and get benevolent. Then he wasmighty useful doing chores around the home, so his father didn't haveto do more work than it took him filling his stomach with Sauriansteaks and Pterodactyl cutlets, and getting drunk on a sort of beer,which his wife had contracted the habit of making for him in theintervals between being laid out cold with a stone club.
"There don't seem to be much doubt about those days. A son's filialduty lasted just as long as his father could enforce it with physicaldiscipline. When he couldn't do it that way any longer, then the sonand father generally made a big talk together, and whatever odds andends of the father could be collected at the finish of the pow-wow werehanded over to some local soup kitchen to make stock.
"Then the son usually took a wife, and so the same old play went on.
"With variations and moderations these things seem to have gone on, onsome such general lines, right down to our present day. In some gradesof present-day life I don't think there's such a heap of change asyou'd guess. The conditions prevail, only the weapons and things aredifferent. However, that's by the way. The thing that requirescareful study is how far filial duty is justified.
"Filial duty is a pretty arbitrary thing when a man who can reallythink looks into it. I maintain that obligation is too much imposedupon offspring. I contend they don't owe a thing to their parents.It's the parents who owe to the offspring. This may shock you, but Ihope you will put all personal feeling aside and regard it in thenature of an academic discussion. First of all, the fact of life isdependent upon the whim of parents to impose it. It is not a thingwhich a child owes gratitude for. Say, take a feller who can't swim,tie half a ton of lead around his neck and boost him into a whirlpoolfull of rocks and things, and ask him for gratitude. I'm open togamble when he gets his breath he won't say a thing--not a thing--aboutgratitude. Maybe he'll remember every other emotion ever given toerring humanity, but I don't guess he'd be able to spell the wordgratitude, let alone talk it.
"We'll pass the subject of life for the moment. We've got it. Wedidn't want, but we got. And all the kicking won't alter it. Nowfilial duty demands obedience, and parents start right in from thefirst to make a kid's life a burden that way. Say, we'll take thatwhirlpool racket again. It's like two folks standing high and dry on arock above it, and firing stones all around the poor darned foolstruggling to win out. It don't matter which way he turns he's headedoff with a rock dropped plumb ahead of him. Those rocks are labeled'obey.' Say, after about twenty years of dodging those rocks parents'll tell that feller of all they did for him in his youth, and say he'sungrateful just because he's learned enough sense to realize hisparents are fools, anyway, and ought to be petrified mummies in apublic museum.
"One of the worst sins of parents toward children is the fact that assoon as they take to sitting around in rockers, and their hinges startto creak when they get up, they don't ever seem to remember the timewhen their joints didn't have to make queer noises. When folks getthat way they reckon it's the duty of all offspring just to sit aroundand gape in fool credulity, while they tell 'em what wonderful folktheir parents--used to be, and how they--the children--if they lived acentury, could never hope to be half as wonderful. A really bright kidgenerally hopes that for once his parent is talking truth. I say itwith all respect that the gentlest, most harmless, most inoffensivefather would resort to any subterfuge to have his son think he couldlick creation if he fancied that way; and there isn't a woman soalmighty plain but what she'll contrive to get her daughters--whilethey're still children--crazy enough to believe she was the beauty ofher family, and that all their good looks are due to her side of thematrimonial contract.
"Of course, it isn't a desirable thought to picture your mother playingat holding hands in dark corners with fellers who never had ahundred-to-one chance of being your father; also it isn't just pleasantto speculate on the tricks she had to play to get your father to thejumping-off mark; neither do you care to dwell on what she thought ofthe chorus girls your father was in the habit of buying wine for, anddecorating up with fancy clothes and jewels in his spare moments. Youdon't feel it's a nice thing to think of the numbers of times some oneelse has had to take off
your father's boots for him overnight, andbathe his aching head with ice-water to get him down town in themorning to his office. But it wouldn't hurt you a thing if parentsmade a point of remembering all these things for themselves, and wouldgive up making you quit playing parlor games during sermon in church onSundays and inventing your own words to the hymn tunes.
"Now let's jump to what I call the breaking-point of filial duty. It'sthe point when a kid gets old enough to master the inner meaning of theexpression 'damn fool,' which has probably been liberally applied tohim for years. It's the moment when physical discipline can no longerobtain for--physical reasons. It's the point when two real live men,or two real live women, face each other with a contentious situationlying between them. Where does obligation lie? Does it remain--anyway?
"In Nature it does not. In human nature it remains--chiefly because ofundue sentimentalism. Now sentimentalism should be a luxury, and not alaw. This is obvious to any mind not suffocated by the gases ofdecadence. I'd like to say Nature's laws are sane and just, and, sincethey are inspired by a great and wise Providence, it's not reasonableto guess they can be improved upon by a psalm-smiting set of folks, whospend their whole lives in wrapping 'emselves around with cotton battento keep out the wholesome draughts of Nature's lungs.
"So I feel that when the breaking-point of filial duty is reached it isno longer mother and daughter, father and son, in the practicalities oflife. Take commerce. Father and son are in competition. Each isfighting for his own. How far is a son justified in emptying anautomatic pistol into his father's food depot, when that mistakenparent guesses he's yearning to storm his son's stronghold ofcommercial enterprise? How far is that father justified in doping hisson's liquor, so he won't lie awake at nights planning to roll him forhis wad next morning? Take a daughter and her momma. Most mothers actas though they had to live all their lives with their daughters'husbands. And most daughters act as though they preferred their mommasshould. I ask: how far has a mother right to butt in to run herdaughter's home doings, and so muss up for some one else what she wasnever able to do right for herself? Why shouldn't a daughter beallowed to make her own mess of things, and later on, when she collectssense, clean it up again the best she knows?
"These are questions in my mind. These are questions I don't just seemable to answer right myself, and sort of feel they'd have given old Solsome insomnia, in spite of all his glory over the baby episode he madesuch a song about. Well, I put 'em down here, and maybe you can tellme about 'em, and, anyway, they make some problem.
"Maybe I haven't set out my news to the best advantage, but my mind isvery busy with fixing things as they should go. You see, I'm workinghard in the old Dad's interest, and am hoping soon to get that littleword of approval from him which means so much, coming from so great aman. I am looking forward to seeing you again soon, and hope to seeyour dear, smiling face and pretty eyes just as bright and happy as Ialways remember them. Give my love to our Gracie, and tell her thatthe only way to get rid of those peculiarly spindle lower legs, whichhave always been one of her worst physical defects, is to adopt ankleexercises. It's a defect, like many others in her character, which canbe improved with conscientious effort and patience.
"Your loving son, "GORDON.
"P.S.--Your future daughter-in-law is just crazy to be taken into yourmotherly fold.
"G."
Mr. Harker's face was wreathed in smiles at the thought of the pleasantnews it was his good fortune to be conveying to the wife of his chief.His smile remained until he heard the trim maid's announcement at thedoor of Mrs. Carbhoy's boudoir. Then the smile vanished, as though ithad never been, and his well-nourished features became an assortment oftroubled bewilderment. Furthermore, within five minutes of hisushering into the lady's presence he had registered a solemn vow thatcelibacy should remain his lot, until the day that saw his ampleremains become a subject for cooking operations by the crematoriumexperts.
Mr. Harker was certainly unfortunate in his selection of the moment atwhich to pay his call. Mrs. James Carbhoy had had half an hour sincereading her son's letter, in which to pursue that hateful hyphenatedword "daughter-in-law" through every darkened channel of her somewhatlimited mental machinery.
Daughter-in-law! It was everywhere. She could not lose sight of it.She could not escape its haunting meaning. It pursued her wherever shewent. It was there, lurking amidst the folds of her gowns if shepeered inside the great hanging wardrobes. It danced like awill-o'-the-wisp in every mirror which her troubled eyes chanced toencounter. It was interwoven with the patterns of the carpets; and thewall-paperings found a lurking-place for it amidst the unreal foliagewhich adorned them. It laughed at her when she angrily turned away toavoid it, and when she endeavored to defy it its mocking onlyincreased. So it was that the unoffending Harker encountered the fulltide of her angry alarm and maternal despair.
Mr. Harker had prepared a well-turned opening for his excellent news.But it was never used. Even as his lips moved to speak they remainedsealed, held silent by the bitter cry of outraged maternal pride.
"He's married!" she cried. "Married--and I--I have never beenconsulted!"
Mr. Harker felt as though he had been caught up in the whirl of aphysical encounter in which his opponent held all the advantage.
Mrs. Carbhoy waited for no comment. She rushed headlong, following upher advantage, smashing in "lefts" and "rights" indiscriminately.
"It's disgraceful--terrible! The ingratitude of it! After all hisfather and I have done for him! To think how we've always guided andtaught him! The callous selfishness! The moment he's out of oursight--this--this is what happens. He's picked up with some wicked,designing female, whose father's certain to be a--a--gaolbird--or,anyway, ought to be. Not a word to a soul. We--we don't know who sheis--or--or what. He don't even say her name. Daughter-in-law!It's--it's---- Mr. Harker, I'm just wondering when I'll come over allcrazy."
Mr. Harker welcomed the pause.
"You say Mr. Gordon's married?" he demanded incredulously.
"Yes--no. That is, he--he says 'your future daughter-in-law'!"
Mr. Harker breathed a deep relief and strove to smile confidence uponhis chief's wife.
"Ah, yes. Mr. Gordon was always one for the girls. But he wouldn'tmake a fool of himself that way----"
In a moment the second round of the battle was raging.
"Fool? Fool? Every man's a fool, if some woman chooses!" cried Mrs.Carbhoy, and promptly hurled herself into a bitter tirade against hersex, sparing no race of monsters from likeness to it.
Mr. Harker was forced to submit from sheer inability to compete withthe rapid flow of expression. But later on he had his opportunity atwhat he considered to be the termination of the "second round," whilehis opponent retired to her corner to be fanned by her seconds.
"Anyway, ma'am, if he's not yet married there's still hope. I guessMr. Carbhoy's wise to what's doing with him. You see, he's been therewith him."
"James Carbhoy!" The contemptuous emphasis on her husband's nameopened the "third round," and Mr. Harker felt that the timekeeper hadcalled "time" before he was ready.
For three full minutes the scornful wife of the millionaire recited anamplified denunciation upon husbands in general and millionaires inparticular. But even so the round had to come to its naturalconclusion, and when they were both resting once more in their"corners," Mr. Harker achieved something almost approaching success.
"You know, Mrs. Carbhoy, I was feeling pretty good coming along here inmy automobile. Mr. Gordon's something more to me than just your son.We're real good friends, and I was feeling as anxious for his future asmaybe you were. Well, when I got word from your husband at Snake'ssaying that he'd turned our affairs over to Mr. Gordon I was real glad,and I felt now here was the boy's chance. Then, day after day, alongcome his instructions, and I saw by the grip he'd got on things he'dtaken his chance, and was pushing it through with as much smartness asMr. Carbhoy himse
lf might have shown. I was more than gratified,ma'am. Why, only to-day I've received word of a big coal option he'staken for us. As he's got it it's something for nothing. Nobody couldhave done better, not even your husband, ma'am. I really can't thinkthere's going to be any mistakes about--strange females."
The man's tribute had a mollifying effect upon the mother. But she wasstill the "mother" rather than a creature of logic. She saw her boybeing led to his undoing by some designing creature of her own sex, andher instinct warned her of the hideous dangers to millionaires' sonsinherent in so guileful a race.
"If I could only feel that he was experienced in the world," she saidhelplessly. "But what does our poor Gordon know of women?"
Mr. Harker smiled. He was thinking with the intimacy of one man whoknows another. He knew, too, something of the way in which Gordon'smoney had generally been spent.
"We must hope the best, ma'am," he said, with a hypocritical sigh."He's evidently not married, so--what do you intend to do about itwhile Mr. Carbhoy is on the coast?"
"Do? Do? Why, I shall just go up to Snake's whatever-it-is, orBuffalo what's-its-name, and--and----"
"I should wait awhile, ma'am, if I were you," Mr. Harker interruptedher, fearing another outburst. "I'm expecting David Slosson in thecity soon. He's one of our confidential men who's been working up atSnake's for us. I haven't heard from him for quite a while. He's sureto be along down soon, because he's got to make a report. Maybe he cantell us just how things are. Anyway, I wouldn't go up there. It's aqueer, wild sort of place, and in no way fit for you."
"Will Slosson be around soon?"
"Sure, ma'am."
"Then I'll wait," cried the troubled mother, without cordiality. Thenshe appealed to the man who had always been something more than a merecommercial figure in her husband's life. "You know, if anything wentwrong with my boy, Mr. Harker, it would just break my heart. I--Icouldn't bear it. But I tell you right here there's no wretched femalegoing to play her tricks on our Gordon with me around, and while I'vegot James Carbhoy's millions to my hand. And if your man Slosson don'tgive us satisfactory news of the boy, then, if Snake's what's-its-namewere the worst place on earth--I should make it."
"If it comes to that, ma'am, there are other folks feel that way, too,"said the manager earnestly. "But meanwhile I'd say don't worry athing."
"I don't!" snapped the mother sharply. "The person who'll need to doall the worrying is that--female."