III
Carroll, Bruce knew, was a popular man in town, no doubt deriving special consideration from his association with Mills. His name was written into local history almost as far back as that of the Mills family. In giving up the law to become Mills’s right-hand man it was assumed that he had done so merely for the benefit to be derived from contact with a man of Mills’s importance. He dabbled somewhat in politics, possibly, it was said, that he might be in a position to serve Mills when necessary in frustrating any evil designs of the State or the municipal government upon Mills’s interests.
Bruce had wondered a little when Carroll intimated his purpose to look him up; he had even speculated as to whether Mills might not have prompted this demonstration of friendliness for some purpose of his own. But Carroll bore all the marks of a gentleman; he was socially in demand and it was grossly ungenerous to think that his call had any motive beyond a wish to be courteous to a new member of the community.
Carroll was tall and slender, with light brown hair and deep-set blue eyes. His clean-shaven face was rather deeply lined for a man of his years; there was something of the air of a student about him. But when he spoke it was in the crisp, incisive tones of an executive. A second glance at his eyes discovered hints of reserve strength. Serving an exacting man had not destroyed his independence and self-respect. On the whole a person who knew what he was about, endowed with brains and not easily to be trampled upon or driven.
“You mustn’t let Bud fool you about our home town. Most anything he says is bound to be wrong; it’s temperamental with him. But you know him of old; I needn’t tell you what a scoundrel he is.”
“Certainly not! You can’t room with a man for four years without knowing all his weaknesses.”
“Yes, I certainly know all yours,” Henderson retorted. “But he isn’t a bad fellow, Arthur. We must marry him off and settle him in life. I already see several good chances to plant him.”
“You’d better let Maybelle do that,” replied Carroll. “Your judgment in such delicate matters can’t be trusted.”
“Perhaps I’d better leave the room while you make a choice for me,” said Bruce.
“What would you think of Leila Mills as a fitting mate for him?” asked Henderson.
“Excellent,” Carroll affirmed. “It’s about time Leila was married. You’ve met Miss Mills, haven’t you, Storrs?”
“Yes; several times,” said Bruce. He suspected Bud of turning the conversation upon Leila merely to gratify his passion for gossip.
“Of course you’ve got the first call, Arthur,” said Henderson with cheerful impudence. “The town is getting impatient waiting for you to show your hand.”
“I’m sorry to keep my fellow citizens waiting,” Carroll replied. “Of course there are always Miss Mills’s wishes to consider.”
“Oh, well, there is that! Bruce, with his known affection for the arts, may prefer the lovely Millicent. He’s not worth troubling about as a competitor. Well, I must skip back to Maybelle! Wait till I get downstairs before you begin knocking me!”
“Don’t be in a rush,” said Bruce.
“Oh, I’ll go now!” said Bud as he lounged out. “I want you to have plenty of time to skin me properly!”
“Bud’s a mighty good fellow,” said Carroll when they were alone. “He and Maybelle give a real tang to our social affairs. I suppose we have Bud to thank for bringing you here.”
“Oh, not altogether!” Bruce replied. “I was alone in the world and my home town hadn’t much to offer an architect.”
“Your profession does need room. I was born right here and expect to be buried among my ancestors. Let me see—did I hear that you’re from the East?”
The question on its face was courteously perfunctory; Mills would certainly not have done anything so clumsy, Bruce reflected, as to send Carroll to probe into his history.
“I’m an Ohioan—born in Laconia,” he replied.
“Not really! I have an uncle and some cousins there. Just today we had a letter at the office from Laconia, an inquiry about a snarl in the title to some property. Mr. Mills’s father—of the same name—once had some interests there—a stave factory, I think it was. Long before your day, of course. He bought some land near the plant—the Millses have always gone in strong for real estate—thinking he might need it if the business developed. Mr. Mills was there for a while as a young man. Suppose he didn’t like the business, and his father sold out. I was there a year ago visiting my relations and I met some Bruces—Miss Carolyn Bruce—awfully jolly girl—related to you?”
“My cousin. Bruce was my mother’s name.”
“The old saying about the smallness of the world! Splendid girl—not married yet?”
“Not when I heard from her last week.”
“We might drive over there sometime next spring and see her.”
“Fine. Carolyn was always a great pal of mine. Laconia’s a sociable town. Everybody knows everybody else; it’s like a big family. We can’t laugh so gaily at the small towns; they’ve got a lot that’s mighty fine. I sometimes think our social and political regeneration has got to begin with the small units.”
“I say that sometimes to Mr. Mills,” Carroll continued. “But he’s of the old ultra-conservative school; a pessimist as to the future, or pretends to be. He really sees most things pretty straight. But men of his sort hate the idea of change. They prefer things as they are.”
“I think we all want the changes to come slowly—gradual evolution socially and politically,” Bruce ventured. “That’s the only safe way. The great business of the world is to find happiness—get rid of misery and violence and hatred. I’m for everything that moves toward that end.”
“I’m with you there,” Carroll replied quickly.
Bruce’s liking for Carroll increased. Mills’s secretary was not only an agreeable companion but he expressed views on many questions that showed knowledge and sound reasoning. He referred to Mills now and then, always with respect but never with any trace of subserviency. Bruce, now that his fear had passed, was deriving a degree of courage merely from talking with Carroll. Carroll, in daily contact with Mills, evidently was not afraid of him. And what had he, Bruce Storrs, to fear from Franklin Mills? There could not have been any scandal about Mills’s affair with his mother or she herself would probably have mentioned it; or more likely she would never have told him her story. Carroll’s visit was reassuring every way that Bruce considered it.
“I got a glimpse of you at Deer Trail the other day,” Carroll was saying. “You were there about the superintendent’s house—Mr. Mills spoke of you afterward—said you seemed to know your business. He’s not so hard to please as many people think—only”—Carroll smiled—“it’s always safer to do things his way.”
“I imagine it is!” Bruce assented.
Carroll remained until the clock on the mantel chimed twelve.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed this as much as I have!” he said. “If there’s anything I can do for you, give me a ring. Mr. Mills is a regular client of Freeman’s. We’ll doubtless meet in a business way from time to time.”